


coup de foudre

by Ride4812



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Photographer!Ian, Smut, model!Mickey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-11-19 05:37:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 36,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11306796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ride4812/pseuds/Ride4812
Summary: This story was originally a one shot called "Love in a Photograph" but when I decided to make it longer, I changed the name!Ian Gallagher is a successful photographer living in NYC. His life changes when he meets a model named Mickey Milkovich and swiftly falls in love. Will their relationship be picture perfect?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Lydia, an incredible photographer in her own right ;)

Ian wasn't into photographing male models. which was pretty ironic due to the fact he was gay. Of course, the men were hot with their sculpted bodies and smoldering looks, but more often than not they were frat boy type douchebags, who acted like they were entitled to the world they believed they were the center of. The straight ones made damn sure he knew that they liked pussy, while the gay ones seemed to think they were doing him a favor by flirting with him. He'd fucked a few of them and found they were way more boring than they looked; dead fish who flipped and flopped around but offered nothing more than a blowhole. 

With female models it was different. It was though every girl he'd photographed had some finely tuned gaydar. He wasn't at all flamboyant, but somehow they'd all realized right off the bat that he was gay. Maybe it was because he didn't give a shit about their tits and the way they arched their back. When he directed them into position, he was technical, completely unaffected by what others would view as perfect specimens of women. Predictably, they wanted to be his best friends, so he had an Instagram page full of nights out with beautiful women who were looking for someone way more flamboyant than him. Though their relationships rarely lasted, the photos were forever and they were really good for business. When viewing his social media, many would believe that Ian was much more in the scene than he actually was. In reality, he was just trying to make enough money to afford his expensive West Village apartment and have enough to eat. So far, he had done quite alright; contracts with major brands padding his portfolio nicely and drawing all the right type of attention.

If anyone told him that he would've fallen madly in love with a male model, he never would've believed them. But that was exactly what happened when a blue eyed, black haired marvel stepped in front of his camera.

"Mickey," The man greeted, extending his hand as he walked onto set. He was wearing the hell out of a pair of ripped jeans and a black t-shirt; a simple outfit that shouldn't have looked so goddamn good.

"Ian Gallagher. Nice to meet you," He said cordially, trying to stop himself from drooling. Mickey was hot, but not in the way that other models were. Sure, his face was perfect with his full lips, straight nose, and lightly freckled skin, but it was more than that. He had attitude and swagger that came naturally to him. So many others in the industry had to tap into some manufactured persona to harness that type of presence, but for Mickey it was authentic. 

The brunet nodded and glanced around the studio, taking in his surroundings. "So, how d'you want me?" He questioned with a sniff, knocking his knuckle against his nostril and looking him straight in the eyes. Ian saw the depth of the ocean in his irises, somehow looking calm or erratic based on the angle. He could do a series on his eyes alone, but that wouldn't move the sneakers that Rick Owens was expecting to sell. 

"They, uh, want it simple so it's just gonna be just you and the chair for the first few frames, y'know, clothed or whatever and then for the next look you'll be..." Ian cleared his throat, trying to keep it the fuck together even though he was pretty sure he was already blushing, "um, nude with just the shoes."

Mickey looked at him skeptically. "This ain't your first shoot is it? I mean, motherfuckers don't go straight to Rick Owens..."

"Uh, no. I've been doing this a while," He assured him, wondering idly if anyone had ever actually died of embarrassment. 

The brunet pursed his lips, still eyeing Ian down incredulously as he made his way over to the chair that was placed in front of a white wall. Slouching into the seat, he spread his legs wide and looked towards the camera, appearing slightly annoyed. Ian couldn't get over how perfect he was. While most models were too pouty when they posed like they didn't give a shit, Mickey's disinterest was believable. 

"I'm gonna do a light test," He informed Mickey as he took the lens cover off his Leica, "Andy, can you..." He gestured for his assistant to come closer with the lighting boom. "I'll tell you when we're good."

Mickey just nodded and gnawed on his nail bed, spitting a hangnail out to the side. 

"A little lower," Ian directed Andy, who hurried to do as he was told. "So I'm, um, assuming since makeup didn't cover your tattoos, they're good to shoot." 

"Mmmhmm," Mickey confirmed, "Ain't shooting for Disney footwear. Pretty sure Rick don't give a shit about my tattoos since he, y'know, booked me."

"Oh, I wasn't trying to..." The redhead stuttered, "I mean, I like them, so I wasn't trying to say there was anything wrong with them. Not at all." He heard Andy sigh, and out of the corner of his eyes he could see the thin man rubbing his forehead, clearly suffering from a case of second-hand embarrassment. 

"Good. I was worried about that shit. Glad to know I got your seal of approval." He smirked at the crimson wave flooding over Ian's face, "Hey man, you gotta chill the fuck out, alright. You're too high strung. It's weird."

"Sorry, I'm..." He paused, losing his train of thought when he noticed Mickey's eyes looked softer; more intrigued than dubious. "I'm ready."

Mickey sat forward a bit, keeping his body loose as he gazed into the camera. Ian could feel the intensity and heat from behind the lens. Too many people thought that modeling was easy, but Ian knew better. A professional could have an attractive body or a beautiful face and not know what to do with either. Mickey had both and a set of skills that made him a dream to shoot. From moving his body ever so slightly, to angling his face an inch, each shot he gave Ian was better than the next. 

"You're not gonna hurt my feelings if you give me direction," Mickey said, running his thumb along his lower lip. 

"You're perfect," Ian confessed, moving his camera down so he could look at Mickey without glass between them, "You know what you're doing," He corrected quickly, "I already have at least 100 that could run as an ad without any retouching. 

Mickey raised an eyebrow and licked a small smile off his lips, "Perfect, huh?"

Ian nodded, hiding his flaming hot face from view as best he could with his camera. "Um, you can give me the finger. That'd be good."

"For calling me perfect?" Mickey teased, causing Ian to blush even more intensely. Without giving him any more guff, he held up his middle finger and tilted his head to the side. 

"Mmm, yeah I like that," Ian praised, as he snapped the photos. He squatted down to get a different perspective for a few frames before declaring, "Got it." 

Andy lowered the boom light and headed over to the craft table to get a drink, "Want something?" He asked his boss.

"Just water," He replied. He turned to Mickey, "You can go to makeup to get prepped for your next look."

"Gonna be pretty fucking naked, think you can handle that, Gallagher?" He taunted, licking the small smile off his lips as he passed by a stunned Ian. The photographer hadn't really considered that Mickey was into guys and if he actually was, he knew that he sure as hell wasn't in his league. While it was more likely that he was having fun fucking around with him, Ian couldn't deny that there was a flirty vibe in the room. A slew of possibilities knocked around his mind as he and Andy set up for the next series. He wondered how much of an ass he'd made of himself, hoping it hadn't been as awful as he was making it out to be in his head. 

"How bad was it?" He asked Andy as they waited for Mickey to come back in the room.

"Scale of 1-10?" 

"Yeah, scale of 1-10."

"12 or so," Andy said candidly, "You were mad awkward." Ian grimaced at the brutal honesty. "You like him?"

"Fucking look at him," Ian replied as if it was a given. 

"Still straight." Andy shrugged.

"Does that mean you don't have eyes? You're going to be a shitty photographer if you can't admire an aesthetically pleasing person regardless of their sex or gender," Ian chided, "Gotta open your mind, man."

His assistant nodded his understanding and they both hushed when Mickey came back in the room wrapped in a grey silk robe.

"I ain't wearin' a cock sock because they're fucking stupid," He stated matter-of-factly. 

"Uh alright, whatever works for you," Ian replied, really wishing he would've put one on. There was no doubt he was going to be turned on seeing Mickey mostly naked, but being faced with his dick was a whole different ball game. He could feel his mouth begin salivate just thinking about it. "I'm gonna light test, so I'll tell you when it's time to, um, drop the robe."

"So, did you model before you got into photography?" Mickey questioned as Ian snapped a few pictures and adjusted his levels.

"Me?" Ian asked surprised.

"I ain't taking to Urkel over there," Mickey laughed, gesturing towards Andy who was clearly dismayed by the comparison. 

"Um, no. Never," The photographer replied, shaking his head as if the suggestion was ludicrous. 

"Hmm," He hummed thoughtfully. He kept his trained on Ian who was fumbling with his camera and giving directions to Andy. 

"I'm good whenever you are," Ian informed him, holding his breath as Mickey shed his robe. 

The model cupped a hand over his cock after giving the redhead a long moment to take in his form. Unsurprisingly, Ian found that his dick was as perfect as the rest of him. He couldn't help but imagine it hard and bouncing around while Mickey rode him. Fuck, he wanted him. 

"Uhh, I'll get you from behind first," The redhead prompted. 

Mickey punched out a laugh and tisked, "You're making some fucking assumptions." He turned around so that his plump ass was on full display, the view immediately causing Ian's breath to hitch. He had the quintessential bubble butt and as soon as the redhead saw it, he wanted to bite it, spank it, fuck it. "and you're probably right about all of 'em," He said with a smirk, looking over his shoulder at Ian, who immediately snapped a photo. 

Ian's heart was racing as he continued to capture the moments, making sure that the label on the back of the black studded sneakers was firmly at the center of the frame. Had Mickey just admitted that he was into guys? That he was a bottom? The information was almost too much for Ian to comprehend. It took all of his self control to focus on the task at hand. After he was sure he got the shot, he told the model to turn around and sit with his knees to his chest; a side view that was somehow just as sexy as the back. 

As Mickey stared into his lens, eyes alternating between hard and soft depending on the shot, Ian had to adjust himself in his jeans; the raging hard-on he was sporting pushing up against the fly of his fly, straining to get into that ass. "I, uh, I'm just gonna try one more angle," He began, walking closer so he was standing behind Mickey, his pelvis pressed against the back of his head. From above, he got a few shots of the brunet's bruised knees along with the top of the shoes; a more artistic take, but powerful just the same. "Got it." 

He watched as the brunet rose to his feet, barely able to cover his huge erection with his fist. "That's what you fucking get for resting your junk against the back of my head," Mickey stated with a shrug, seemingly unaffected by the fact that he was rocking some very obvious wood. 

Ian should've gotten his number. He should've came back with a flirty response. He should've done something, but instead he did nothing but watch the model wrap himself back up in his robe, and exit the room taking Ian's balls along with him.


	2. Chapter 2

The best thing about obsessing over a successful model was the fact that his Instagram was plentiful in spank bank material. Ian had spent the last several days cumming all over his hand to pictures of Mickey. Most of the shots on his page were professional, but the few selfies shared from his personal life really did it for the redhead. One close-up of his face drove him particularly crazy. He was sitting outside; blue eyes squinted slightly from the glare of the sun, while his tongue was stuck out like a rockstar. Over and over again Ian imagined what it would feel like to glide his cock over that tongue and shove it down his throat. His palms were actually starting to blister from overuse, which was mortifying in its own right considering he used his hands for work.

“Your hands are gross,” Jade informed him, as she held one on their way to the bar, “All crusty and callousy.” 

“I’ve been lifting. Gotta start wearing gloves,” He lied, pulling his hand away and tucking it into his pocket. 

“I noticed you were looking more cut,” She complimented, squeezing his bicep. “Are you still gonna get French fries with me or are you going to start pulling some model behavior?” 

“Nah, I’ll leave the model behavior to the actual model,” Ian laughed, “I’m in for fries.”

Mmm I can’t wait! I’ve been thinking about them all week. I’ve literally been on the Reformer every morning thinking of French fries.”

“I can confirm,” Kate stated, pushing her long, dark, wavy hair over her shoulder, “This bitch was non-stop during Pilates, which then caused me to think about French fries, which made me want to fucking kill her, because I have Sports Illustrated next week.“

“She just likes bringing up Sports Illustrated whenever possible,” Jade tisked, shaking her head. She giggled when Kate gave her a shove. 

“It’s a big deal,” Ian complimented, holding the door to Forrest Point open for his friends. The bar was by far his favorite in Bushwick, with its outdoor yard all lit up with festoon lights and lined with picnic tables and swing sets. It was the quintessential adult playground and fuck, if he didn’t feel like letting loose. 

The early May evening was perfect; the stars in the clear sky twinkled as a cool breeze blew in from the East River, gently rustling the leaves in the trees. The bar was packed with hipsters and industry types all excited to take advantage of the beautiful night. They made their way over to where their friend Lucy and her boyfriend Leo were sitting at the end of a table. 

"Long time no see, man," Leo greeted, shaking Ian's hand.

"Hey, yeah, good to see you."

"Jason's still asking about you," The other man stated as soon as Ian took a seat on the bench, earning him a smack on the arm from his girlfriend.

"Really? He's been sitting down for approximately 0.2 seconds," Lucy chided, rolling her eyes, "I told you not to bring it up to begin with!"

"I don't give a shit if it was a hit it and quit it," Leo said quickly, throwing up his arms in surrender, "Just would be nice to let him know that, eh?"

Ian nodded, busying himself with the menu. "It's been, uh, like 3 weeks. So, I thought he'd, y'know, get it. But I can shoot him a text or something. I've kinda, um," He paused, clearing his throat, "moved past it or whatever."

"You don't have to explain anything to us," Lucy exclaimed, grabbing Ian's wrist, "Just tell Leo to fuck off."

"Fuck off, Leo," Jade said off-handedly. She shrugged at the unimpressed eyes she got in return, "What? He wasn't gonna say it." She rested her hand on Ian's thigh, quite aware that ghosting dudes was her friend's M.O. 

"He's boring anyway," Lucy said dismissively, drawing a scoff from Leo. 

"He's my best friend," Leo reminded her. 

"Well, I'm glad you have better taste in girlfriends than bros," She stated matter-of-factly. 

"Savage," Kate laughed, shooting a look to Jade that her best friend immediately read. 

"There was nothing wrong with him," Ian said, breaking through the tension at the table, "Just wasn't for me, I guess. Not my type."

"But he was enough to fuck him?" Leo questioned, yelping when Lucy hit him harder. "What?! He did!"

"I'm sure you've had one night stands," Jade tisked, raising her eyebrows knowingly. The statement quickly shut Leo up and had Lucy looking at them both incredulously. 

"Anyway," Kate interrupted, "Who wants to split the veggie platter?"

Though the night started off rocky, it smoothed out the more they had to drink. By the time they'd all downed a few pints of summer cider, they were laughing wildly through the story Jade had insisted Ian tell. 

"Andy actually said it was awkward as fuck?" Kate asked, holding her hand in front of her mouth, eyes wide. 

Ian nodded chuckling at the absurdity of his shoot with Mickey, "It was fucking brutal."

"Maybe he thought it was charming or whatever," Lucy offered through the grimace on her lips. "Like, some people are into that shy shit."

The redhead just shrugged and took a drag off his cigarette, exhaling and watching the smoke float up towards the spring sky. 

"It isn't like you're desperate for dick," Jade added, "There's a guy completely eye fucking you right at this very moment." She nodded towards a brunet a few tables away from them. 

"Fuck," Ian breathed as soon as his eyes locked into a very familiar puddle of blue. "It's him."

"Wait, the model?" Kate asked, craning her neck to her a peek. "Oh damn, he's hot." 

"Could you guys be more obvious?" Leo laughed at the way the girls were blatantly checking out the dude across the yard. 

"Yeah, stop," Ian ordered, averting his eyes as his cheeks flushed pink. Risking another glance in Mickey's direction, he was surprised to find him walking over towards them, looking like a meal in his tight white t-shirt and torn up jeans. Fuck.

"Figured I'd come closer so you all could get a better look," Mickey taunted as he licked his lips, eyes fixed on Ian, who looked like he wanted to get a better look at the underside of the table. The alcohol buzzing through his body wasn't doing a good enough job of raising his threshold for mortification. Instinctively he reached for Jade's half full pint and chugged the contents. Mickey smiled deliberately in response. 

"I'm grateful that you did," Jade said with a shit eating grin, "I know Ian is, too."

Ian clenched his jaw and closed his eyes intentionally for a moment. 

"Yeah, our baby's shy as fuck," Kate stated, "but you probably already noticed that." 

The redhead's skin was nearly as vibrant as his hair as he flipped off his friend. 

Mickey regarded him with amusement evident on his face and nodded: "Yeah, I noticed. Fucking hard not to, right?"

"He's shy but it doesn't mean that he doesn't have balls," Lucy interjected, "I hear he's doing alright in that department." Everyone but Ian erupted in peals of laughter. 

"I mean, that ain't bad to know," Mickey said with a smirk, rubbing his knuckle against his lower lip. "Gotta know what I'm gonna be working with." 

The girls all let out an 'Oooooo' in unison, as if Ian had been called to the principal's office while the photographer looked at the other man wide-eyed. 

"This is when you offer to buy him a drink," Jade teased, giving Ian a smooch on his burning hot cheek. 

Wordlessly, Ian adjusted himself in his jeans and rose to his feet. He nodded for Mickey to follow him to the bar, and the brunet happily obliged. 

"Sorry, they're a lot to handle," He apologized, leaning against the counter. 

"What about you? Are you a lot to handle?" Mickey questioned, moving impossibly close to him and licking his lips. 

"I probably can be. Not as much as them, but just the typical amount of bullshit. Nothing too..." Ian rambled, shoving his hands into the pocket of his jeans. 

"Stop," The brunet interrupted with a grin, "Been thinking about you a lot." 

"You have?" Ian asked, genuinely surprised, "I've been, uh, thinking..."

His sentence was cut short by tattooed fingers cradling the base of his skull and pulling him down towards full lips. The kiss was vehement from the start, both men hungrily exploring the others' mouth; tongues tangling and breath mingled. Ian wasn't sure how long they stayed connected. All he knew was the drink he was supposed to be buying was long since forgotten, as their mouths were busy attending to more important matters. 

They kissed their way over to one of the swing sets; Ian taking a seat on the wooden plank and pulling Mickey down on top of him. 

"Goddamn, you don't kiss like you're shy, Gallagher," He praised as Ian nibbled on his lip mischievously and grasped onto his ass. 

"Don't fuck like I'm shy either," The redhead assured him. The cider he'd polished off, coupled with the fact the hottest man he'd ever seen was sitting on his lap, did wonders for his confidence. 

"That right," Mickey mused, eyebrows raised high, "Think I'm gonna have to make you prove that shit to me?" 

Ian grinned and went back in for more, wrapping his arms around the model's hips and eagerly pulling him closer. 

Mickey's hands were flat against Ian's freckled cheeks as he returned his kisses ardently. Just as Ian was about to suggest that they get the fuck out of there, he heard an a man's voice say, "Mick, we gotta go, man."

Mickey peeled his lips off Ian's and glanced over his shoulder at two guys who were standing behind him. "Fuck," He grunted, climbing out of Ian's hold so he could stand in front of the swing, "I got a FourTwoNine cover party I gotta go to." 

"Oh. Um, congratulations on your cover."

"Thanks," Mickey said sincerely. He handed his phone to Ian, "Put your number in and I'll text you or whatever."

Ian nodded and entered his digits before giving the cell back to him. He wondered when he'd see him again. An hour felt like too long, he had no idea how he'd last another few days.

The brunet hunched over to press his lips against Ian's one last time and whispered, "Gonna be thinking about all the ways I want you to fucking prove it."

"Make a list," Ian joked with a shy smile, "I'll knock off every one of 'em."

"Fuck you're hot," He crooned before standing up straight. He gave Ian a regretful wave and followed the two guys who had interrupted them out of the bar. 

Ian was left reeling from the passion of their kisses, relishing in the soreness of his lips and the dampness in his boxer briefs; evidence that it had actually happened and wasn't just a dream. He took a few more moments to calm himself down before he headed back over towards his friends.

"I thought for sure you'd be going home with him," Jade sighed as soon as he sat down next to her. 

"He had a work thing," Ian said, shoving a cold French fry into his mouth, "We're gonna have to order more of them."

She nodded. 

"So are you gonna thank us or what?" Lucy asked with a grin.

Ian rolled his eyes and let out a light laugh.

"You know that shy act gets him a mad amount of cock," Leo reminded his girlfriend, "Blushing bastard don't need us."

"We just expedited the process," Jade said matter-of-factly.

"Why don't you expedite your ass up to find our waitress to get me more fries?" He suggested, earning a playful smack from his friend who dutifully did as he asked. 

"Only because I know all that kissing worked up an appetite," She teased with a wink. 

His appetite was whetted for sure and he knew the only thing that could possibly satisfy him had left the bar several minutes before. He was starving and he couldn't wait to feast.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been 18 hours since he saw Mickey and he had yet to hear from him. Though he’d been busy shooting earlier that day, the afternoon was mostly spent staring at his phone’s blank screen and willing a message to pop up from the brunet. He was sure he was going to get in touch with him. After all, he’d seemed more than interested the night before. Unfortunately, the certainty didn’t make the waiting less torturous. He’d found himself replaying the highlights and lows of the evening before; blushing at the memories. He hadn’t given Jade, Kate, Lucy and Leo enough crap for embarrassing the shit out of him. Still, Mickey didn’t seem fazed by any of it, remaining as cool as he was confident. 

Fuck, he kissed well. His lips were soft and he wasn’t tentative to go for it with his tongue. Kissing Mickey was like fucking, but more romantic. Kissing Mickey was like making love. He shook his head at the realization, thinking how far gone he was for a guy that he hardly knew. It felt like there was something more there, something that had been there from the moment he laid eyes on him. He wondered if Mickey felt it too; what he felt when their mouths connected, when their bodies touched. 

He slid his hand under his boxer briefs and began to stroke his semi. He figured if Mickey did text him and wanted to get together that night, they’d probably fuck and there was no way he’d be able to last if he didn’t blow a load beforehand. Though his phone had spent the day betraying him, he still found it useful as he scrolled through Mickey’s Instagram. He settled on a picture he’d used a few times before. It was an H&M swimwear ad in which Mickey was wearing a pair of short trunks that were being pulled down at the hem by an overeager Beagle. The result was an amazing shot that Ian wished he’d taken. Mickey’s mouth was wide with laughter and his eyes were bright as he looked back at the dog, who had a guilty look on his face. The brunet’s body was banging and the top of his ass was exposed down to the beginning of his crack. It was a masterpiece. 

He licked his palm to get it nice and wet before tugging down his underwear and wrapping it around his straining erection. Eyes fixed on the photo, he began to slowly stroke the length of his cock imagining that perfect ass lowering down onto him. He twisted his fist as he pictured the model riding him, those strong legs supporting his toned body. Swiping his thumb across his slit, he pulled the precum that was leaking down his shaft so he could slick himself up further. He pumped his cock at a more rapid pace, biting down on his lip as he thought of Mickey doing the same. His hips humped into his hands as he stared at the plumpness of his lips and broadness of his chest. He felt his legs shake with the anticipation of his impending release as he jerked himself harder, a gentle clicking filling the air of his bedroom. One last glance at the picture had him spilling all over his hand with a pleasured groan. 

He made his way to the shower, deciding that he’d get ready to go out regardless whether he heard from Mickey or not. Jade had mentioned a gallery opening in SoHo she was attending, so worse came to worst he would just tag along with her. The sounds of the city were still quieter than his childhood home and sometimes the lack of noise made him feel too alone. He never thought he’d miss the chaos of the South Side or Fiona’s house, but random pangs of homesickness hit him at the most inopportune times. Though he was surrounded by millions of people, NYC still felt lonely with the hustle and bustle easily passing by him if he stood still for too long. He’d never felt as compelled to seek out companionship in Chicago. It had already been built in, but now that he was on his own he needed to make more of an effort. So he did.

When he was done with his shower he wrapped a towel around his waist, picked up his phone from the nightstand, and smiled thinking that a watched pot truly never boiled. As soon as he’d left the device behind, things had gotten immensely hotter.

Mickey (7:45pm): Hey it’s Mickey  
Mickey (7:45pm): U got plans 2night?  
Ian (8:31pm): Hi I’m free if u wanna do something  
Mickey (8:35pm): U wanna come over to my place & then we can get a drink or food or whatever?  
Ian (8:36pm): Yeah ok when should I come?  
Mickey (8:37pm): After me ;)  
Ian (8:37pm): Of course  
Mickey (8:38pm): Just fucking with u. Whenever u want. I’m here.  
Mickey (8:38pm): 60 Walter Street #504 DUMBO  
Mickey (8:39pm): U in Brooklyn?  
Ian (8:40pm): Nah West Village. I’ll leave in 5. Be there around 9:30.  
Mickey (8:41pm): C U then

If Ian could’ve teleported himself to Mickey’s apartment, he would have. The way the model had phrased the invitation, had Ian pretty sure they were going to go straight to fucking and then maybe leave the bed to get something to eat. He threw on a pair of dark wash jeans, green t-shirt and a pair of Chuck Taylors before heading out the door. Talking himself out of taking a cab so he could get there sooner, he made his way to the subway. 

The photographer spent the whole ride trying to figure out how he was going to approach Mickey. It seemed that the other man liked it when he was aggressive. He could be aggressive. He was aggressive. Thoughts of throwing Mickey down on the bed and hammering the fuck out of his ass had his legs bouncing in anticipation. Nervous energy continued to pulse through his body as he entered Mickey's building and got on the elevator that carried him up to the apartment. 

As soon as Mickey opened the door they were on each other. Ian wasn't sure who started the kiss, it was as though their mouths were magnets, pulling towards one another. 

"Nice place," Ian complimented, taking in what he could see between kisses. Mickey hummed a 'thanks' and guided him into the bedroom; walking backwards so he could keep their lips fastened together. 

It was a race to see who could undress the other faster as a whirlwind of clothes were tossed onto the floor. Mickey tugged him down on the bed on top of him and handed him a condom that was laying on the comforter. "I'm ready. Took care of myself before you got here."

Ian's dick twitched at the image his head illustrated of Mickey prepping himself in anticipation for his cock. 

"I, uh, gotta use mine." He leapt off the bed to get his wallet out of his jean pocket and grab a magnum.

Not having had a chance to fully admire what Ian was working with, the brunet licked his lips and grinned at the sight. "Fuck," He muttered appreciatively, before scrambling to get on his hands and knees, resting the top of his head against his wrought iron headboard, "We can fucking chit-chat later, need you to plow me with that cock, been thinking about this shit too long."

Having no problem with the other man's urgency, Ian slid the condom on and pulled Mickey apart with his hands. Spitting into his ready hole, he sighed at the sight of the tight muscles contracting. From his positioning, Mickey had made it obvious that he wanted it fast and hard, just the way he intended to give it to him. Grasping his shaft in his fist, Ian lines the thick head of his dick up with Mickey's opening. He inched in slowly, making sure that the brunet's body was good to go. They both groaned as Ian bottomed out and rotated his hips, wanting to stretch Mickey out for the dick down he was about to get. 

The model lifted his head and arched his back, whining quietly at the sensation while tattooed fingers wrapped around the bars of the headboard. 

Ian wastes no time in snapping his hips, strong, rhythmic thrusts that had the brunet grunting underneath him. 

"Oh fuck, that cock. Holy shit," He mewled, gasping with every direct ram into his prostate, "Fuck me with that big fucking cock, c'mon," He urged. 

The redhead dug his fingernails into Mickey's hips as he picked up his pace, driving into him again and again as he moaned in ecstasy. "Perfect ass. Goddamn, you got the most perfect ass." He leaned back a bit so he could watch as his dick moved in and out of Mickey's pink, puckered hole, fleshy mounds hugging his shaft as he pulled out and devouring him when he pushed in. 

"Fuck me harder, man. Fucking split me in half," Mickey urged, pushing back on Ian's dick, forcing him in further.

"Such a needy bottom for me," He complimented, trying not to notice how perfect Mickey looked getting impaled by his dick. The guy didn't have a bad angle and he knew if he stared at him too long he wouldn't be able to give him the pounding he was asking for. Focusing on Mickey's hands gripping the poles, he started to slam into him, building a brutal cadence. His balls slapped against his lover's skin as he fucked him hard. A cacophony of moans filled the air as their bodies worked towards orgasm. 

"Fucking close," Mickey cried dropping his hand down to his leaking cock. He pumped it aggressively as Ian angled his hips up for two final thrusts to his prostate that had him cumming all over the bed. 

The redhead wasn't far behind, groaning Mickey's name as he emptied into the condom.

"Goddamn, you can fuck," Mickey sighed collapsing onto the bed next to his exhausted lover. He bit his lip as Ian reached over wordlessly, to slot their fingers together. They were lying there silently, basking in he afterglow when a rumble from Mickey's stomach interrupted them. “You work up an appetite?” He questioned, pulling on a t-shirt and smirking at the redhead who was still attempting to catch his breath. 

“I could eat,” Ian replied with a grin. He watched as Mickey smoothed down the hair he’d been yanking. “Still look hot even with your hair all jacked up.”

Mickey shook his head and laughed as he reached for the baseball cap that was on the floor beside his bed. “Wouldn’t give a shit but my agents won't be happy if I walk outta the building with a dude, sporting some ‘just fucked’ hair. Don't feel like listening to them bitch at me about it. Ain't good for business if it looks like someone's got me tied me down."

"We could try that next time," Ian flirted,  
pushing himself up on his elbows to get another look at Mickey's ass as he stood up to put on his boxer briefs. "If you're into it. 

"Definitely into that shit," He crooned, leaning down to press a kiss against Ian's lips. 

“You get paparazzi, huh?” The redhead asked as he stood up from the bed to get dressed. He knew damn well he did from all the time spent cyber stalking him. Though Mickey didn’t seem to be affected by the attention, he was definitely the “It guy” of the moment; an openly gay, incredibly hot model with a bad boy streak.

"Assholes," Mickey tisked, "They call themselves photographers but they ain't nothing but vultures. It's a fucking insult to your job."

Ian shrugged, "Wouldn't be the first time people insulted my profession."

"That right?" He asked surprised. 

"Mmmhmm," Ian confirmed, slipping his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans. "When I say that I'm a photographer a lot of people think it's a hobby not a profession."

Mickey raised a perplexed eyebrows, "Then they're ignorant motherfuckers that don't understand art. You're an artist."

"You haven't seen the campaign yet. You could think I suck," Ian stated biting his lower lip as they exited the apartment. 

"Looked up some of your shit," He replied easily, laughing at the surprise on Ian's face, "What? You were shooting me. Gotta do my homework."

Ian felt his cheeks burning pink. "And you, uh, liked what you saw?"

"Yeah Gallagher, you're fucking talented," He stated matter-of-factly, "In more ways than one." He flicked his eyebrows up and bit his lip salaciously. "But, seriously, your shit's impressive."

"Thanks," Ian said softly, looking at Mickey through his peripheral vision, "That means a lot, coming from you."

The model rubbed his forehead and sighed, "Know what else you got me thinking about in more ways than one?"

Ian regarded him expectantly, awaiting the answer.

"Getting tied down," Mickey admitted, taken by surprise when he was pushed against the wall of the hallway and kissed feverishly. 

Ian didn't trust his words to portray the sentiment as well as his lips could; binding with Mickey's, showing him that he made him want to be tied down, too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The phrase "worshiping at the altar" came from my buddy Kendal_Lynne!  
> Check out her adorable fic "Somewhere Only We Know" if you want to fall in love with Ian and Mickey all over again :-*  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/9468863/chapters/21421457

Ian spent the next week worshiping at the altar of Mickey; down on his knees, thick cock down his throat, a zealot for the religious experience being with the other man had proven to be. When his mouth wasn’t full of Mickey, it was brimming with words. A means of expression that had seemed so difficult with him in the past was easy with the model. He found that being with Mickey had made him downright talkative, sharing stories of his past, hopes for the future, and everything in between. He liked that Mickey was funny, sarcastic and brash, but softened when conversations turned serious. He liked how he made him feel, like everything he said was important, how he hung on every word. He liked him. A lot. Maybe he liked him too much.

Nothing about his relationship with Mickey was typical for him. He’d kept all of the men he’d been with in the past at arm’s length, valuing his independence over their company. With Mickey it was different. Aside from work obligations, they’d spent every moment they could together; holed up in the model’s apartment, talking and fucking. Ian hadn’t lived in his apartment in days, instead using the expensive space as a pit stop to drop off dirty clothes and grab clean ones. 

Things were moving fast, speed of light fast. He was pretty sure they were falling in love. Maybe they’d already fallen. He wondered if he’d begun the descent when he first saw him, remembering the way the sight of him took his breath away. It was more than the physical, even though he was gorgeous. It was a feeling he’d gotten deep in his gut; a calm amid the storm of his overactive nerves. He’d never believed in love at first sight until it happened to him. It was easier to deny things exist when he hadn’t felt them, but now that he had, he was sure it was real. Somehow, his anxious mind was soothed by his solid heart and the fact that it was apparent Mickey felt the same way. Nobody had ever looked at him the way Mickey did, like he could see down to his soul and knew its story, like he wrote it. 

“Mmm, just like that,” Mickey moaned, propping himself up on his elbows so he could look down at Ian’s mouth wrapped around his dick. The redhead smirked as he dragged his tongue up the shaft and sealed his lips around the head. “So fucking good. Pretty ass mouth.” He gasped when Ian slid three fingers into his messy, fucked out hole, plunging them deeper and deeper until they were covered with the cum he’d dumped in Mickey moments earlier. The model dropped his head to the pillow and splayed his arms out into a ‘T’, gripping the sheets tightly to brace himself for the explosive orgasm he knew he was about to have. 

Ian moved in rhythmic synchronization, expertly bringing Mickey right to the edge, before slowing down to prolong his pleasure. Hooking his fingers to pulse against his prostate, he took Mickey past his tongue and savored the taste precum as it leaked down the back of his throat. Wanting more he jammed his fingers harder into the sensitive spot, causing Mickey’s legs to shake as he shot his load into his eager lover’s mouth. 

“Fuck, you’re so goddamn perfect,” He complimented, tugging Ian down onto him and pulling him in for a sloppy kiss filled with the remnants of his release. He sighed when Ian rolled off him to light a cigarette and smiled when he placed the filter between his lips. “Got me thinking crazy fucking things, man.”

“What kinda things?” Ian questioned, lighting one up for himself and watching as the brunet exhaled a plume of smoke and shook his head.

“Just crazy shit,” He said simply.

“You getting shy now?” He taunted, lifting a red eyebrow inquisitively.

“Nah,” Mickey laughed, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he gazed at the man beside him. “You got a lot on your schedule next week?” 

“Not really. I have a shitty little catalog shoot on Monday, but I think that’s it for now,” Ian said, narrowing his eyes. “Why?”

The brunet shrugged, “I gotta go to Paris. Booked a campaign with The Kooples, shooting on Tuesday and Wednesday.”

“Holy shit, Mick. That’s awesome,” Ian exclaimed wide-eyed. He knew that Mickey was successful. He’d worked with several major labels, but The Kooples was significantly more editorial than his more commercial work of the past. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” He agreed, taking a drag of his cigarette while keeping his eyes fixed on Ian. “Want you to come with me.”

“You what?” The redhead asked surprised, his head left spinning from the statement. “To Paris?” 

“No, to Antarctica,” Mickey teased ,resting his hand on Ian’s bare stomach and tracing the cuts of his abdominal muscles, “Yes, to Paris. Want you to come.”

“I, uh, wow…” He breathed, feeling his heart begin to pound in his chest. He was just as taken aback by the fact that Mickey had asked as he was that he really wanted to go. 

“Too much, too soon?” He questioned, nudging his nostril with the side of his knuckle and sniffing uncomfortably. 

“No,” Ian assured him, shaking his head vehemently, “It’s not like that at all.”

“Then what’s it like?”

“What are we? I mean…” His face blushed at the question, “We spend a lot of time together and y’know traveling together is kind of a big deal. I’m just wondering if we’re a couple or not?”

“Of course we are,” Mickey said, giving him an easy grin. 

Ian smiled back at him, goosebumps covering his arms as he leaned in for a kiss. “I wanna go,” He said when he pulled back, “to Paris with you. I just have to see if Andy can cover for me on Monday.”

“Yeah?” The model asked, relief flooding over his face. “You want to?

“Mmmhmm,” Ian confirmed, “Never been.” 

“That right? It’s a nice city, I guess. Don’t compare to New York, but I like it.”

The redhead shrugged. “Probably would go to Antarctica with you, too. It’s not about Paris.” 

“What’s it about then, Gallagher?” Mickey challenged, raising his eyebrows, a smirk tugging on his lips.

“About you.”

“What about me?”

“Think I’d go anywhere with you,” He confessed, cheeks flushed. 

“And why’s that?” He prodded.

“Fuck off,” Ian laughed, “You know why it is.”

“Think I got a pretty good idea,” The brunet confirmed with a click of his tongue. 

Ian nodded and took a deep breath.

They laid in the bed in silently smoking their cigarettes, each lost in their thoughts of the others until Mickey’s voice cut through the quiet, “This isn’t,” He paused as if he was gathering his thoughts, “This shit’s all kinda new to me. Feeling this way about someone. Being in love.”

“Yeah, me too,” Ian admitted, flabbergasted that Mickey had told him he was in love with him, sure he loved him too, “I’ve never really thought of, like, a future or whatever.”

“But you think about it with me?”

“A lot.”

“You ever hear about those people who meet someone and just know that person is the one they’re supposed to with? So they run to Vegas, a courthouse or wherever and just fucking elope. They know each other for like three days and they get married.” 

Ian nodded, “Yeah, my sister Fiona did that. Married this guy in a band after knowing him for a few days.”

“How’d that work out for her?” 

“Well, she cheated on him within the first week, so not well,” He replied with a soft laugh. 

“Think she loved him? When she decided to get married?” 

He shook his head, “Nah. Think the sex was probably good or something and they were too fucked up on the pheromones to make a good decision.” Though he noticed that Mickey grimaced at the statement as if he’d been hit in the face, he had a hard time finding the words to acknowledge it. His stomach sunk at the thought that he’d somehow rejected him, but he wasn’t sure if he was alluding to things between them or making conversation. There was no possible way that Mickey wanted that, right? He felt his heart pumping in his ears as he tried to understand what he’d meant. In order to clarify, he decided to go with a question, “You ever think about doing something like that?” 

Mickey shrugged and rolled his tongue in the space between his bottom teeth and lip. “I dunno. Never felt that way about anyone so I never put much thought into it.”

Ian could feel every nerve in his body ignite when he uttered the next words, “But you’re thinking about it now?” 

The brunet looked at him with amusement dancing across his beautiful face, “So what if I am?” 

Ian lifted a shaky hand and placed it on Mickey’s cheek, “I don’t think it’s something you think about. I think it’s just something you do.” 

Blue eyes melted into green as they both realized what was happening.

“Just something you do, huh?” Mickey asked clearing his throat and stubbing out both of their cigarettes in the ashtray beside the bed. “Is it something you’d do?”

“With you I would,” He confessed, his voice trembling as much as his body. “I’d do it with you.”

A broad smile spread over Mickey’s lips as he climbed onto the redheads lap. “What are you saying, Ian?” 

“We should do it.” 

“Do what?” He prompted, clearly enjoying pushing the shy guy to be the first to say it. 

Ian sat up and looped his arms around his lover’s waist, burying his face in his bare shoulder and laughing at the absurdity of it all. “Get married.” 

Mickey laughed too, tilting Ian’s chin up with his fingers so he could see his crimson face. “In Paris. Marry me in Paris.” 

The redhead nodded, “In Paris.”

Happiness overtook them as they kissed fervently, both in awe of what they’d agreed to and in what they’d found.


	5. Chapter 5

All it took was a few short sentences from Mickey's mouth for Ian to understand why most elopements were kept secret. It was dusk on Saturday and they'd decided to grab an early dinner so they could get some rest before they headed to Paris in the morning. As they walked back to Mickey's apartment, they encountered two men who were non-discretely taking pictures of them. 

"How're you doing tonight, Mick?" One of the guys asked as he moved in closer to the model. 

"Was doing better before I ran into your sorry asses," He stated, taking a drag of his cigarette and glancing at Ian who was looking down at the sidewalk, his own cigarette hanging from his lips.

"Will you be at Pride next weekend?" The other man questioned, nonplussed by the brash response the other paparazzo received. 

"Yeah, gonna be on the H&M float. I'll have details on my Instagram," He stated coolly, fulfilling the terms of his contract to promote when asked. 

"Nice, nice," The first man said as he continued to snap away, "Your boyfriend gonna join you on the float? You a model too, boyfriend?" He questioned, turning his camera towards Ian, who refused to look up. 

"Nah, he's an actual photographer who gets paid to take fucking pictures of people. Doesn't gotta hunt 'em down on the street either. Ain't that right, Ian?" 

The redhead nodded, noticeably uncomfortable by the attention. 

"So photographer Ian is your boyfriend then?" The second man clarified, eyes lighting up behind his camera at the scoop he'd seemingly stumbled upon. "What do you say to all the men who'll be broken-hearted by the news?"

Mickey let out a wry laugh, "I think they'll be alright." 

"Really, though. What do you say to them?" He pressed.

Ian sighed and shook his head at the persistence. 

"I'd say they shouldn't worry about what another man's man is doing and tell them to get their own husband."

"Husband?" The paparazzo exclaimed, turning his camera to Ian, desperately trying to get a good angle of the face he refused to show fully. "Congratulations!" 

"Yeah, okay enough now. Fuck off," Mickey spat, shooing them away. He waited until the paparazzi scuttled in the other direction to turn to Ian. "Figured we ain't gonna be able to hide it anyway. Our marriage license is public record."

It was crazy to think that two signatures on a piece of paper filed at a courthouse they day before had technically married them. They hadn't said "I do," "I will," or sealed it with a kiss, but legally they were bound to each another.  
“It’s cool,” Ian said looking over at him with a shy smile, “Like hearing you say that.”

“Say what?” Mickey asked, stomping out his cigarette before opening the door to his building. 

“Husband.”

Mickey grinned and reached over to give the redhead’s hand a squeeze. They shared sweet kisses and soft touches on the way up the apartment, sporadically chuckling in amazement that they’d found each other. 

“Told me to remind you that you gotta pack. No fucking around,” Ian stated as they made their way inside. “Learning shit about you,” He teased, “You’re a procrastinator.” 

“Sometimes, but worse with you. You’re fucking distracting,” Mickey tisked, pulling his suitcase out of the coat closet so he could carry it into the bedroom. “Like this shit,” He gestured to Ian, who had laid himself down on the bed, arms behind his head, gazing up at him. “Look too good laying there like that.” 

Ian rolled his eyes as a crooked grin tugged at his lips.

“Think you’re gonna keep blushing when I say shit like that to you? Ten years from now, think you’re still gonna blush?” Mickey questioned, tossing some boxer briefs haphazardly in the suitcase. 

The redhead shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe?” 

“Hope you do,” He admitted, staring at him with admiration, “It fucking does shit to me, I swear.” Thumbing the bottom of his lip, he shook his head and tore his eyes away from his husband, who was blushing harder from the statement. 

Mickey continued to pack as Ian messed around on his phone, trying not to distract the brunet. He was doing pretty well until a random thought popped into his mind. “Are the French fries better?” 

“In France?” Mickey laughed.

“Mmmhmm,” Ian replied with a grin, “Are they, y’know, always perfectly seasoned? Fried super well?”

“Depends on where you get ‘em probably,” He responded, smirking at the fact that Ian was such a French fry connoisseur, “The hotel we’re staying at is between the 2nd and the 4th arrondissement and there are a lot of good places to eat there,” He cleared his throat, “and you liked that place I showed you in Montmartre, right? For the wedding or whatever. A place I go to eat ain’t far from there. They got good fries.” He smiled, “I’ll make sure you get your fries.” 

“How many times have you been to Paris?” 

“Twenty, I think,” Mickey replied as he counted the trips in his head, “Yeah, about twenty.”

“You have French dudes you see when you go there?” Ian inquired, raising an eyebrow. 

“Jealous type, huh, Gallagher?” The brunet teased.

Ian shrugged, “Can be.” 

“Used to. They never made me wanna settle down,” He assured him, folding a pair of jeans and stacking them on top of the heap of underwear, “only you, alright? All this shit is ‘cause of you. Fuck,” He groaned at the persistent vibrating in his pocket, not wanting to speak with anyone but Ian. When he pulled out his phone and realized he had a slew of missed calls from his manager, Louis, he called him back. “What’s up?” The redhead watched as Mickey shook his head in annoyance, “Yeah, well I don’t gotta clear what the fuck I decide to do in my personal life with you.” He licked his lips and thumbed his nostril, evidence of his aggravation, “So you’re mad you saw it on Page Six’s Instagram and didn’t get a fucking invitation from me?” He paused, “Eloping on Monday.” His tone took an exasperated turn, “Yeah, in Paris. I’m not gonna fuck over The Kooples, you dumbass,” He glanced at Ian and waved off the concern on his face, “Alright, yeah, whatever. Bye.” 

“Those paparazzos already put shit up?” Ian asked surprised, opening his Instragram to see he was tagged in a video. “How’d they figure out my name?”

“I follow ten people, baby. It ain’t that hard to figure out,” Mickey sighed. 

Green eyes grew wide when he saw the name on the incoming call that had interrupted his viewing of the video. “Shit,” He muttered.

“Who’s that?” 

“My sister,” He replied with a grimace.

“Fiona?”

“Mmmhmm.” He couldn't help but be wary of her reaction to the elopement. There was no doubt that her experience had tarnished the romance of an impulsive marriage in her mind. It wasn't that he cares what she had to say, it was that he didn't feel like listening. 

"Tell her that you ain't her and we ain't them," Mickey said, climbing onto the bed so he could sit behind Ian and loop his arms around his waist, protectively.

The redhead turned his head to catch Mickey's lips, giving him a quick kiss before answering the phone. 

"Hey Fi."

"What the fuck, Ian?" She cried, "You're fucking married?!"

"Surprise," He said weakly, grinning at the laughter the statement earned from Mickey. 

"To a male model!" Fiona exclaimed, "Did he need a green card? Did you marry him so he could get one?"

"He's from Brooklyn," Ian informed her, "Born and raised."

"Then why? You never mentioned him when I talked to you last month. Did you know him then?" Her voice was panicked, as if this was the craziest thing a Gallagher had ever done, when he knew damn well it wasn't even close.

"No."

"How long?"

"Two weeks," He admitted, rolling his eyes as the heavy sigh on the other line.

"Why the rush then?" She demanded, "Why... you saw how things worked out for me. Why?"

"I'm not you, Fi. Mickey's not Gus. I've never felt this way about anybody before." He smiled when he felt full lips press against the nape of his neck. "We leave for Paris tomorrow. Mick has a shoot and we figured we'd just go for it."

"So you're not married yet?" She asked hopefully. 

"Legally we are. Got our license yesterday. Paris is just the ceremony."

"Fuck," She grumbled, "This isn't like you, Ian. You've always been so practical. The only planner in our flakey family. Is it because he's hot? Looks fade."

"He's everything," Ian said simply, intertwining his fingers with Mickey's, "Crazy in love with him." 

"I'm worried you may just be crazy this time," She stated sullenly. "Is he good to you?" 

"Good to each other."

"When do we get to meet him?" 

"We'll talk about it and I'll get back to you. I gotta go though, we're packing."

"Okay. Have a safe trip, Ian. I love you."

"Love you, too, Fi. Tell everyone 'hi' and that I'll call when we get back, alright?"

"Bye Sweet Face."

“See ya.” He ended the call to see that he had three missed from Jade, Kate and Lip and several text messages. “Feel like I’m gonna be busy with this shit for a while,” He told Mickey, who slinked out from behind him. 

“Good, I won’t have to worry about your ass distracting me then,” He said with a grin, leaning over the bed to give Ian a kiss before heading back to his suitcase. 

“Your ass is the only ass that’s distracting,” Ian informed him, tilting his head to try to get a peek at the way Mickey’s jeans were hugging his stacked bubble butt perfectly. 

“I feel like your ass doesn’t get enough appreciation in this relationship,” Mickey retorted with a smirk, “You got a fucking hot ass.” 

“Not like yours,” Ian disagreed, with a toothy smile, “Wait, is this our first fight as a married couple?” 

Mickey nodded, “And I’m sure it’s not gonna be our last if you keep up this bullshit.” 

“Know the best part about fighting?”

“Make-up fucking,” Mickey flirted, lifting his eyebrows and biting his lip.

“Make-up fucking,” Ian confirmed, chuckling when the brunet got back on the bed and straddled him, shoving his tongue into his mouth. “You’re bad, you’re supposed to be packing,” He taunted as Mickey pulled his shirt over his head. 

“Show you how bad I can be,” Mickey hummed as he kissed down his neck. 

Ian figured he’d make the calls later. He had more important things to do.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels very apropos to be posting this particular chapter on the day when Germany legalizes same-sex marriage. Love is love! Congratulations Deutschland!
> 
> Le Mur Des Je T'aime (Wall of Love) in Montmartre, Paris
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://tinypic.com?ref=w02xih)  
> 

They arrived in Paris late Sunday night, exhausted from the flight even though they'd slept through most of it. Ian was glad to find they traveled well together, both at ease and unperturbed by the little glitches along the way. It didn't hurt that they spent the time waiting for the plane in the Executive Lounge and were booked in uber comfortable first class seats. Ian couldn't help but wonder what it would be like when work prevented him from traveling with Mickey. His husband was busy, constantly heading to international locations for shoots. The thought of spending a great deal of time away from him was harrowing, but he knew he needed to keep his emotions in check. He was going into the marriage with eyes wide open and he wasn't going to overlook the truths. 

"It's gonna be hard," He whispered into the darkness of their beautifully appointed hotel room. Mickey was wrapped around his body; nuzzled in close, where he belonged. 

"What's gonna be hard?" He asked. His voice was sleepy but concerned. 

"When I can't come with you. When I have to stay in NYC and you're here, in this bed or one just like it without me." He'd always been able to speak more freely when he couldn't see eyes on him, when the cloak of night gave him the illusion of anonymity. 

Mickey sighed and cuddled in closer, a non-verbal reassurance that he wanted him, wanted this. "It's not gonna be easy," He agreed, tucking his feet further under Ian's calves, "but it's gonna be worth it. We're gonna be fucking worth it."

"It wore on your past relationships though, right? They couldn't handle it. Why do you think I can?" He questioned softly. 

"Because you feel what I feel. This feeling... it's stronger than any fucking doubt, any week apart." He sighed and rested his lips on Ian's bare shoulder, "Are you having second thoughts about tomorrow?" 

"No," Ian assured him firmly. "It's not like that. I just don't want to fuck this up. I'm afraid I could. I can be stubborn and emotional... petulant, I guess. I don't want to push you away because I want you closer."

"Won't let you," He stated, "let other guys go when they pushed but won't let you." He kissed his skin again. "You're my husband now. That means shit to me." He was taken by surprise when Ian shook himself free of him and pushed his back down onto the mattress. They'd already Christened the room when they'd checked in, but this was different, more desperate, like they had something to prove. Mickey gasped as Ian inched into him and dug his fingernails into his back to release the pressure. He was still stretched, but tighter than usual; an indication to the redhead that he should take it slow. With their lips fastened together Ian gingerly rolled his hips, shoving deeper into Mickey, feeling closer. 

The night got away from them as they got lost in each other; alternating between kissing, talking, sleeping and fucking. The morning sun peeking through the slits in the dark curtains that shrouded the windows charmed them out of bed and towards Montmartre. Though sun rays had started their day, the sky was mostly overcast and gray; thick clouds warned of an imminent spring shower and cooled the late May air, making Ian's khaki sport coat and Mickey's dark denim jacket necessities rather than just a formality. 

It was just after 10:00am when they reached the Wall of Love, a mural composed of 612 tiles that featured the phrase "I love you" 311 times in 250 languages. The officiant who Mickey had connected with was already there waiting with a file folder in his hand. 

"Mikhailo Milkovich?" The older man questioned as they approached.

"Yeah, you can call me Mickey," He said as he shook the man's hand, "This is Ian."

"Adrien," He introduced with a thick accent and a kind smile, "My staff told me there wouldn't be any guests, but I know sometimes these things can change. Are we waiting for anyone?"

"It's just us," Mickey stated, giving Ian a small smile which the redhead easily returned. 

"Well then, shall we begin," He asked, signaling for them to move closer to the wall with him. There were a couple of straggling tourists but for the most part the space was empty. They faced each other, holding hands when Adrien prompted them to do so.

"This is a little weird, right?" Ian whispered, his cheeks flushing pink.

"Really fucking weird," Mickey confirmed, earning him a tisk of disapproval from the elderly man standing before them. 

The officiant cleared his throat, "Some may say that your love has been unconventional from the start, because to them, love at first sight is a foreign concept. They may find it hasty, impulsive and challenging, but that is only because they themselves have not experienced a sense of belonging found in a stranger's eyes. It's difficult to understand emotions you have yet to feel, but you, Mickey and Ian, are the lucky ones. Two souls so tightly bound to each other that it didn't take months or years of courtship to recognize the powerful connection you share. People waste a lifetime trying to understand what you already know; that if you let love lead you, you will never be lost."

A hard lump of emotion rose in Ian’s throat, but he promptly swallowed it down, not wanting to cry though he was unsure it would be avoidable. It was validating to hear the man put into words what he felt so deeply inside, what he knew since he first laid eyes on Mickey.

"Despite how non-traditional your love-at-first sight story may be, you found that the most traditional of wedding vows reflected the promises you wish to make to each other. So we will recite those vows this morning. Do you have rings for this occasion?” Adrien questioned, noticing the look of panic that the two men were exchanging, “It’s alright if you do not.”

“We, uh, we didn’t think of it,” Ian grimaced.

“Is this shit still gonna count or whatever without ‘em?” Mickey asked gnawing on the inside of his cheek. 

“It’s ceremonial,” Adrien began carefully, obviously pressed by Mickey’s language, “So it will be as valid as it is to you in your hearts. Shall we continue?” The both nodded the affirmative. “Mickey repeat after me: I, Mickey Milkovich, take you, Ian Gallagher, to be my husband.”

“I’m goin’ first?” Mickey asked squeezing Ian’s hand. He licked his lips and smiled before proceeding, “I, Mickey Milkovich, take you, Ian Gallagher, to be my husband.”

“To have and to hold, from this day forward.”

“To have and to hold, from this day forward,” He recited, the glassy film that covered his eyes mirroring the moisture in Ian’s. 

“For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health,” Adrien prompted. 

“For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health,” Mickey repeated, his voice strong and unwavering though his emotions seemed close to getting the best of him. He dropped Ian’s hands so he could press the heels of his palms against his eyes, looking to the wall and blinking a few times once he pulled them away. 

“You can… y’know, cry if you feel you need to,” Ian said softly, drawing a wet laugh and a shake of the head from Mickey. 

“Fuck off,” He whispered with a grin, intertwining their fingers once again. 

Adrien’s eyes went wide at the statement, glancing at Ian to see if he was upset by it and noticing that he certainly wasn’t. “Until death do us part.” 

“Shit’s kinda depressing, huh?” Mickey asked, causing Ian to smile and nod. “Until death do us part,” He promised, sighing contentedly that he made it through the vows. “You’re up, Gallagher.” 

“Ian,” Adrien began, turning to Ian, “Repeat after me: I, Ian Gallagher, take you, Mickey Milkovich, to be my husband.”

“I, Ian Gallagher, take you, Mickey Milkovich, to be my husband,” Ian said, his tone sure though the words were shaky.

“To have and to hold, from this day forward.” He let go of one of Mickey’s hands so he could wipe a stray tear off his cheek with the back of his hand, “Damn it.”

“We weren’t in a hold out,” Mickey assured him, tickling his palm, “but if we were, you fucking lost.” 

Ian laughed and sniffed a few times, glad that his man had lightened the moment so he didn’t break down completely. 

“Shall we continue?” Adrien asked.

The redhead nodded. 

“For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.”

“Slow down a little, I’m kinda, um, fucked up,” Ian urged.

The older man cringed a bit but repeated the prompt slower, “For better, for worse.”

“For better, for worse.”

“For richer, for poorer.”

“For richer, for poorer.”

“In sickness and in health.”

 

“In sickness and in health,” Ian repeated, his cheeks flushed from his necessity for the officiant to break vows into such short phrases. His head was spinning from the gravity of the moment, the love in Mickey’s eyes, the meaning of the words. 

“You’re fine, baby,” Mickey reassured, lifting his eyebrows while he nodded, “you’re fine.” 

Ian felt his heart rate slow and anxiety melt away as he gazed at Mickey’s understanding face, so open and beautiful.

“Until death do us part,” Adrien cued.

“Until death do us part.”

“This the kissing part?” Mickey asked Adrien, though his eyes were locked on Ian’s smiling lips instead of the officiant. 

“Almost,” The man replied, amused, “In French we have an expression for the love you share: Le coup de foudre. The literal translation is a bolt of lightning or a thunderbolt, but more often it's used to describe love at first sight. It hits you, it shocks you, it changes you. Mickey and Ian, as we stand in front of Le mur des je t’aime and its multiple expressions of the same emotion, I wish you a life where every sentiment and promise in this wall crashes over you like thunderbolts for the remainder of the days. I am humbly honored to pronounce you married. You may now kiss.” 

They wasted no time finding each other’s mouths for a kiss full of love and devotion. It was rife with the promises they intended to keep and the future they looked forward to building together. The ashen sky rumbled with the thunder of an incoming storm, pulling them closer rather than apart. And if the angry clouds decided to pour rain down on them, they’d stand there still, knowing they could weather anything, because they wanted to.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Cumplay at the end.

With heads still spinning, from both the intensity of the promises they’d made and a lack of oxygen from their marathon of a kiss, they made their way to the Marché aux Puces to find a pair of rings. 

"It's a flea market but they got new shit, too," Mickey explained, grinning when Ian took his hand and kissed his ring finger. 

"I'm good with whatever," Ian said easily, glad that Mickey wanted to wear a ring at all, especially in his particular line of work. He knew that there were plenty of models who were married, but Mickey had become as much of a sex symbol as a professional. Being tied down would be unappealing to many of his fans, which had the power to affect his bottom line. It felt strange and wonderful that he was willing to sacrifice even the slightest bit for him; it felt like a marriage. 

"Wanna know what you like," Mickey stated, taking a drag from his cigarette and looking at Ian from the side of his eyes. "If you want something new, I'm gonna get it for you."

"I just want you," Ian replied with his cheeks blushing pink. He looked at the man beside him and felt as though he'd hit the jackpot. He had no idea how he'd managed to end up married to him, but he knew he was going to spend the rest of his life being thankful for his luck. If anyone would have told him a month ago he'd be walking down a picturesque street in Paris, next to the man who he'd just made his husband, he would've never believed them. 

Commitment wasn't a concept that he'd ever subscribed to; never finding a man who made it seem like an attractive option. Mickey made him crave fidelity and left him unable to even consider what another man could bring to the table. His mind had always been distracted. After he'd been with a man, he had always easily been on to the next one. From his conversations with Mickey, he was well aware that his husband had been the same way. Somehow their affection towards each other had put an immediate halt in their interest towards anyone else.

"Got me," Mickey assured him as they turned onto the Rue de Rosiers. The sky, which had looked so temperamental mere minutes before, had begun to clear; gradient grey clouds slipped below the horizon as the sun glowed defiantly in their wake.

They perused the shops and stands, looking for symbols of their eternal, infinite love and found hammered gun metal rings that reminded Ian of Mickey; equal parts badass and romantic.

"You sure you're good with wearing it? Y'know cause of work or whatever? I understand if you'd rather not," Ian said, admiring how sexy the ring looked sitting just below his husband's knuckle tattoos.

"Modeling ain't gonna be forever, you will be. Don't give a shit what anyone thinks, alright?" Mickey replied plainly. 

"I think you got a few more years left in you," he said with a smirk. 

"A few more years, huh?" Mickey laughed, pushing Ian against the brick wall of a storefront and slotting their lips together.

The redhead was vaguely aware that his husband was grabbing something out of his back pocket during the embrace, but he eagerly kissed him through the interruption. When they finally pulled apart a few minutes later, Ian laughed at the image on the screen that was being shoved in his face:

While he looked blissed out in the kiss, Mickey's eyes were partially open and his eyebrows were raised high. He'd thrown up his ring finger, making it look like the middle as the band of gunmetal obstructed most of the frame.

"Married Motherfuckers," Mickey stated as he typed a caption.

"Inspired," Ian teased, looking his arm around the brunet's waist so he could pull him in for another kiss. 

"Don't like to fuck around with a lot of words when two'll get the point across," he hummed, raking his fingers through red locks.

"I need three," Ian whispered, before sliding his tongue past pillowy lips. He couldn't help but feel like things were different between them. Though they'd only known each other a short time, they kissed with a passion that only a lifelong promise could provide. Growing up gay on the South Side had made him question if he'd ever find companionship that was any deeper than back alley hookups. Moving to New York City had opened his eyes to the possibility of finding somebody to love, but hadn't opened his heart --until Mickey. 

“You hungry?” Mickey asked, peeling his lips of Ian’s.

“Starving,” he replied, grasping handfuls of his husband’s ass and biting his lip wantonly. 

“Not talking about French fries are you, Gallagher?” His voice dropped low as Ian continued to grab his cheeks and pull them apart. 

“Uh uh,” he confirmed, gently licking and sucking the softest spot on lover’s neck. 

“It’s nice out, but a cab’ll get us back to the hotel quicker,” the brunet stated, pushing Ian back from him so he could move towards the curb and hail a cab. 

They barely came up for air as the car sped towards Les Bains and upon their exit, made sure to give the cabbie a good tip as an apology for the amount of dry humping they did in the backseat. Their vehemence didn’t subside once they entered the hotel, kissing their way into the elevator despite the judging eyes they drew. 

The room was dark despite the brightness beyond its windows; heavy curtains providing a refuge from the world around them. As Mickey stripped off his clothes, he watched skeptically as his husband turned on the lamps beside the bed. 

“Need more light,” he said vaguely, as he walked over to the wet bar to switch on the light there as well. 

“You afraid you’re gonna miss the hole?” Mickey questioned with a smirk. “Don’t gotta be, I’ll make sure you fucking hit it, always hit it so good,” he mewled, coming up behind Ian so he could help him out of his sport coat and reach around to unbutton his jeans. 

“Hang on,” Ian smiled, shaking Mickey off him much to the shorter man’s chagrin. As he walked to the safe in closet, he continued to undress, arriving back at the bed fully naked with his camera in hand. 

“What’re you gonna do with that?” the model flirted, climbing on top of Ian, who had laid back on the bed, head resting on the pillow, camera viewfinder at his eye. 

“Everybody needs a photographer on their wedding day,” he replied, pushing his finger past Mickey’s lips and taking a picture of his husband sucking it dutifully. “Got the prettiest fucking mouth, you know that?” he sighed, focusing his next shot on the smooth, wet interior of his lips that became visible when he pulled his finger out slightly, just before Mickey sucked it back in. 

“You gonna put these in the wedding album?” he asked as he released the suction he’d formed around his husband’s finger, “Show it to or grandkids someday?”

“Grandkids?” Ian questioned, eyes wide with surprise.

Mickey just cleared his throat and began to kiss down Ian’s sculpted abs. “Gonna give you a better shot,” he crooned, nuzzling his nose in red pubic hair before licking around the thick base of his husband’s cock. Dragging his tongue up the shaft, he wrapped his lips around the head and gazed at Ian with fire in his eyes. 

The sexiness of the look paired with the visual of his dick lying heavy on Mickey’s tongue had Ian barely able to feel his fingers. Still, he somehow prompted himself to snap a picture as the brunet started to hoover his dick. “Fuck,” he muttered, placing his camera on the bed beside him so he could tangle his fingers into brown hair. 

“Giving up so soon?” Mickey teased, as he swirled around the ridge and took him back in. 

“Can’t get a good shot while I’m eating you,” he grunted, grabbing Mickey around the waist and slamming him belly down on the bed. 

“Still pretty good from earlier,” he informed him, getting on his hands and knees so his husband could spread his cheeks apart. Ian licked his lips at the sight and with the span of his hand pried him open, thumb on one cheek and pinky on the other. He reached for his camera again so he could take a picture of Mickey’s perfect hole. Spitting into the gape, he watched as the muscles contracted around the warm saliva.

“Yeah, you are,” he said appreciatively, placing his cheek on the bed and angling his head in order to get a shot of Mickey’s big, hard dick hanging heavy in front of him. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?” 

Mickey was about to reply with a cheeky retort, when he felt a dry finger push into his ass. He groaned when Ian hooked it and pressed against his prostate. 

The photographer snapped a shot of his husband’s sexy lips contorted with pleasure and another of his eyes squeezed shut as he added another digit to his hole, pulsing them on the sensitive spot. “Fuck it, gotta taste you,” he sighed, tossing his camera to the side and removing his fingers so he could replace them with his tongue. As he lapped at him voraciously, he reached around and took Mickey’s dick in his hand, relishing in the wet, weightiness of his hard-on. The brunet whined and whimpered as Ian ravished him, his whole body beginning to shake at the sensory assault. 

“Gotta fuck me with that huge cock, baby. Need you to fill me up,” He panted, backing his as up into Ian’s face and forcing his tongue in deeper, “not enough. Need more.” 

“My needy little bottom,” Ian crooned, wiping his wet chin with the back of his hand and smiling at Mickey who threw his finger up impatiently. He laid a spank on the ass that was waiting in the air and grabbed lube off the nightstand, drizzling it generously into Mickey’s crack. Using his left hand to line himself up with Mickey’s opening, he held his camera in the right. Slowly, he inched his dick in, loving the hungry noises Mickey was making and the view of his asshole stretching to accommodate his size. “Oh fuck,” he moaned, “just pulling me right in, Mick, so fucking sexy.” He took a picture of the way Mickey’s pink, puckered hole sheathed him as he backed out of him a bit and tightened when he pushed back in. Once he was fully seated, he slid his left hand up the curve of his husband’s back and dug his fingernails into his shoulder, snapping a photo of the way his body arched beneath him. “So beautiful. My beautiful man.” 

“I love you,” Mickey breathed, turning his head so he could look over his shoulder at Ian. He licked his lips when his husband gave him a smile that bloomed straight from his heart, “but I need you to shut the hell up, put the camera down, and fuck me, baby. Can you do that?” 

Ian felt his cheeks grow hot as he nodded his head, took one last picture of Mickey’s top teeth digging into his full bottom lip, and threw his camera to the side. “I’m gonna take more pictures of you later.” 

“Can take as many as you want after you turn me out,” Mickey assured him, “c’mon.” 

Ian draped his arms over Mickey’s shoulders and pressed his chest flank to his back so he could get close enough to slot their mouths together as he fucked him slow. “I love you,” he whispered into Mickey’s mouth as the brunet kissed him back vehemently.

“Love you, too,” Mickey promised, moaning when Ian straightened up a bit and began to slam into him hard. “Fuck, just like that, keep hitting it like that.” He pushed his hips back further to draw Ian in deeper and let out an overwhelmed exhale when he felt a big hand start to tug on his dick. 

It didn’t take long for Ian to have Mickey spilling into his hand, the redhead doing his best to collect every drop of cum. Once he was sure he had it all, he smacked his palm against his man’s perfect posterior, watching as the sticky substance painted his pale skin. He inched his dick out slowly, causing the brunet to groan at the loss. Grabbing his camera with his right hand, he jerked himself off with the left, taking pictures of the mess he’d made on Mickey’s mounds, while holding back for a moment before adding to it. He could barely keep the camera steady as he came onto Mickey’s ass, dropping the camera when his fingers twitched from the pleasure. 

“Cumslut,” Mickey teased breathlessly as Ian cleaned him up with his tongue. His body shivered at the sensation of Ian’s hot mouth on his skin and his short nails dragging down the length of his spine.

“You love it,” Ian crooned once he was done, hunching over Mickey once again so their mouths could meet for a sloppy kiss.

“Fucking love it. Fucking love you,” he replied, smiling into the next kiss and the one after that, and the one after that.


	8. Chapter 8

When Ian got lost in Mickey, he never wanted to be found. The way his husband blanketed his body and covered him with kisses made the thought of being anywhere but inside of him entirely unappealing. He was pretty sure he'd never get over how incredible it was to have Mickey riding him. His man didn't just get on top and use his dick like a dildo, he really fucked him. When Ian threw his head back in pleasure, Mickey sucked his neck and when he began to pant, he'd come up and catch the exhalations in his mouth. He was everywhere; lips pressed against his collarbone, hands rubbing his chest, feet hooked around his knees, making sure he was thoroughly pulled apart.

"Feel you fucking throbbing inside me," Mickey whispered as he continued to roll his hips, "c'mon and shoot it deep," he urged resting his hands on freckled cheeks and staring deep into green eyes, "give it to me."

Ian felt his whole body convulse as he gave his husband what he wanted. He watched Mickey's eyes rolled back at the sensation and licked his lips when his husband sat up too shoot his load at his mouth.

"Such a good fuck," Mickey crooned, collapsing on Ian's chest as he tried to catch his breath. "Think it's gonna be like this for the rest of our lives?"

"Yeah," he said, rubbing Mickey's back as his panting subsided, "unless I break a hip or some shit when I'm 80."

"That'd fucking suck," The brunet said, looking up at Ian and shaking his head at the thought.

"You'd have to like, hoist my dick up when I peed," Ian stated with a shit eating grin on his face.

"First of all, a broken hip's not gonna stop you from being able to piss on your own and second, you got a huge cock but it don't need a second set of hands or a crane to hold it up, Firecrotch," he said with a laugh, giving the redhead a soft peck on the lips.

"Not what you say when you're taking it," Ian reminded him, checks flushing pink as he prepared to do his best Mickey impression, "its more like, 'oh fuck, slam me with that big fucking cock' or 'split me in half with that huge dick, daddy.'"

Mickey tisked, "Never called you, daddy, asshole."

"But you could," he flirted, using his fingers to tilt Mickey's chin up so he could kiss his way into his mouth.

"Kinky fucker," Mickey rasped into his mouth, "You just gotta tell me what you like and I'll do it."

"Yeah?" Ian sighed as his husband nibbled on his lip.

"Mmmhmm," Mickey hummed, "No gross shit or threesomes," he clarified, "but you wanna tie me up, role play, edge, fuck rough, bang in public ... I'm on your fucking dick."

"Don't share well anyway," Ian stated, grabbing a handful of his husband's ass. "Gonna be a slut for me, huh?"

"Make me wanna be," he replied, pressing a kiss against Ian's lips before sitting up, "don't think we got time to eat a full breakfast before my call time. You good with grabbing a crepe or some shit on the street on the way?"

"You want me to come with you?" Ian asked, surprised, "figured you'd want me to hang here."

The brunet narrowed his eyes skeptically and shook his head, "You don't gotta come if you don't want to. Just thought it'd be cool for you to be able to network or whatever. Ain't a big deal if you aren't into it though." He crossed the room to grab the ripped jeans and black t-shirt he'd tossed on the floor the night before after their French fry wedding feast. "Don't give a shit, it's up to you."

"No, I mean, if you want me to come, I want to," he said, feeling his cheeks flame red, "thought you may want me to, y'know, keep my distance from your work stuff."

"Told you it wasn't like that," Mickey stated, rolling his tongue under his bottom lip, "Maybe I just want your ass around, kinda like you a little bit. He licked his lips and raised an eyebrow, "you got a problem with that?"

"Not at all," Ian replied, a shy smile crossing his face as he looked down at the tan striped comforter then up at Mickey, "don't have a problem with that all."

"Good. Did well for myself, wanna show you off," he said, heading towards the bathroom, "hurry the fuck up. We gotta roll."

Ian sat on the bed dumbfounded by what Mickey said. It wasn't that he had low self esteem, he'd always felt pretty good about himself. It was more the fact that a gorgeous model not only wanted to marry him, but was proud as hell of their commitment. He'd never felt more wanted or loved. He got dressed quickly and joined Mickey at the sink, where they brushed their teeth next to each other, exchanging little grins and chuckles.

The weather was beautiful and the scenic streets were bustling with people rushing to work. To them it was just another day, but to Ian and Mickey, it was the first day of the rest of their lives. They made their way towards the crepe cart on the corner.

"You ever have one of these things?" Mickey asked as Ian studied the picture menu on the side of the cart. The redhead shook his head in response. "Just imagine an omelet and a pancake fucked and splooged out sweet shit or savory, I guess --if you're into ham and cheese or whatever."

"Appetizing," Ian laughed, "just get me what you like."

Mickey nodded and ordered Nutella and strawberry crepes. When the man handed them the aluminum foil wrapped triangles, they immediately dug in and Ian grimaced at the sugary taste.

"You have such a sweet tooth," he teased, watching his husband house the crepe as they walked.

"Fucking right I got a sweet tooth, married you didn't I?" He replied with his mouth full of the sticky confection, "like 'em sweet."

"I think I like them savory better."

"The fuck are you trying to say, Gallagher? That I'm not sweet?" Mickey smirked, licking Nutella off his lip. Ian was so enamored by the way his husband's tongue slide over his puffy pout that he almost tripped over a woman's dog, earning him a very angry phrase in French.

"You're perfect," Ian replied, taking a bite of the section of the crepe that had been folded several times thus having the least amount of Nutella.

"They'll have a craft service table," the brunet informed him, as he crumpled the aluminum foil and tossed it into a wastebasket as they passed.

"It's alright," he said, offering the rest of the crepe to Mickey, who waved it away. He tossed it in the trash and took the lit cigarette the other man was offering him. "Breakfast of champions."

Mickey nodded with a grin and signaled for Ian to lean next to him on the stone edifice of a three story building. "This is us," he stated, taking the cigarette back and pulling in a long drag.

"You nervous?"

"About the shoot? Nah, none of this shit affects me," he replied plainly, "it could all go away and I'd be alright. I've been poor before, ain't afraid to be poor again." He cleared his throat, "I mean, having money is obviously better, but it's not everything, right?"

Ian shook his head, wondering if it was even possible to fall further in love with him. "No, it's not."

His family had always been a nose to the grindstone bunch, who always did what they needed to make the next dollar, but never setting themselves up in a position to really do well. Ian hadn't been like that. He'd chased art instead of money, and subsequently, ended up being the most financially successful of them all. It wasn't his top priority, but his talent and passion had paid off. He offered Mickey one last hit and stomped it out when he refused.

"C'mere," he whispered, grasping the fabric of Ian's t-shirt and pulling him close for a Nutella and nicotine kiss. "Glad you're here."

Ian nodded and followed Mickey into the building, where a receptionist greeted them and led them back to an expansive courtyard. "You'll be shooting in this space today and in a warehouse tomorrow," she explained as they approached a group of men. "Mr. Eli," she began, garnering the attention of the oldest in the pack, "I have Mr. Mickey Milkovich, Mr. Milkovich, Mr. Raphaël Eli," she introduced, "he is our lead photographer for the fall campaign."

"Nice to meet you, Mickey," Raphaël said, extending his hand, "I've heard wonderful things, looking forward to working with you."

"Yeah, same," Mickey replied, shifting under the gaze of the rest of the men.

"We are not shooting a couple today," a skinny man with thick black framed glasses stated rudely, "we did not get notice that there were two."

"I'm not a model," Ian interjected quickly, "I'm his..."

"He's my husband," Mickey filled in, noticing the crimson blush painting freckled cheeks.

Raphaël laughed, "Well, he may not be a model, but he surely could be."

"Either way, we're not set for two, Mr. Eli," the assistant interrupted.

"Do you know The Kooples are known for shooting real life couples for their ad campaigns?" the photographer asked, ignoring the adamant man beside him. "I'd love to get a few shots of the both of you at the end of the shoot. They will like this."

"They're not the same size," the stylist stated, "we didn't pull for him."

"There are many ways around this," Raphaël said easily, waving his arms in the air as if the concern was ludicrous. "We get the ginger..."

"Ian," Mickey said, lips pulled tight.

"We get Ian naked and put Mickey on his lap. He straddles him and glances over his shoulder. We see the tight fit of the pants stretched over that famous ass and the ging.. Ian buries his head into his husband's neck, strong arms around his waist," Raphaël envisioned excitedly. "It's hot, it's gay, it's now!"

"I'm not really..." Ian cleared his throat, "I'm not a model. I'm much more comfortable behind the camera."

"He's a photographer," Mickey added proudly, resting his hand on the small of Ian's back.

"Is this how you met?" Raphaël asked, smoothing his black hair down and regarding the two with interest, "please tell me this is how you met, give an old man hope."

Ian nodded, "I shot him for Rick Owens a couple weeks ago."

Every mouth dropped open at the admission. "But you met before this, yes?" the assistant asked, adjusting his glasses, "you surely met before this."

They both shook their heads.

"This is phenomenal. I am obsessed with you two!" Raphaël crooned, a wide smile stretching across his overly tanned face. "This is love! This is the most special type. And you were married?"

"Yesterday." Mickey intertwined his fingers with Ian's and gave him a squeeze.

"You two..." Raphaël began, with a clap, "you are everything!" He turned to the wardrobe assistant, "Get Mickey dressed, these boys have better things to be doing than wasting their time here with us."

The man gestured for Mickey to follow him into the building. As he walked away, he heard Ian and Raphaël discussing the older man's camera. He grinned at the excitement in his husband's voice as he rambled on about the other photographer's Leica S Typ 007 and couldn't help but be damn glad Ian came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Kooples actually use real life couples for some of their campaigns. It's very cool!


	9. Chapter 9

At first Ian had thought Raphaël was joking about him participating in the photo shoot, but when he'd asked persistently in the courtyard and then revisited the topic in the warehouse the next day, he realized the photographer was serious. 

"I will make it magnificent," he assured Ian as he snapped photos of Mickey. The brunet was sitting on a modern metal chair wearing a very classic sport coat and grey slacks. Ian knew that anything his husband was involved in would be gorgeous. Mickey was stunning as a subject and even more extraordinary beyond the lens of the camera. Though Ian had grown up without believing in a higher being, Mickey was so beautifully made that it inspired him to consider his construction. 

As if on cue, Mickey glanced over at him and licked his full lips before looking back at Raphaël's camera with a smoldering look in his eyes. Ian couldn't help but think of the fact that his man's ass was probably still full of his cum from the fucking they'd done that morning. If it wasn't painting his walls, it would be leaking out of his hole onto his boxer briefs. It turned him on to think about the dampness in Mickey's pants and how it belonged to him while his husband shared himself with the world. He wanted to slide his hands down the back of those pants and see which one it was; if Mickey was still holding him deep inside of him or if he was sticky and wet with the evidence of his pleasure. 

He crossed his arms over his chest in an attempt to put his hands in a necessary time out. If it were up to him, he'd have his fingers dipping in and out of Mickey's hole, but he knew he had to chill. 

"Look like you're dying to get on him," Raphaël mused, looking at Ian rather than the viewfinder. "I can feel your energy, the tension."

"You're just trying to get me under him," Ian stated, his face flushing pink. 

"You were just married," the older man stated with a click of the tongue. "It is inhumane for you to be apart for even an extended moment. Your bodies ache for the other's companionship, your souls seek to connect. Can you feel it, Dante?" he asked the skinny man with the dark rimmed glasses. 

"Hard not to," he replied matter-of-factly as he adjusted the boom light, "it's palpable."

Though Mickey was too far away to hear the conversation, the sexy grin he gave him had Ian ready to take any step he needed to in order to touch him. 

"What d'you want me to do?" Ian questioned softly. 

Raphaël turned to Ian and smiled excitedly. "You can leave your underwear on and we will have Mickey's body block them or we can just have you nude. Whichever option you choose we will close the set so it is just myself and Dante. We will set you up so all we will see is your legs, arms, hair and a part of your cheek. This is it. You just have to hold your husband, which I assume is very easy for you and something you have practiced extensively. He will be your clothing."

"Should I..." Ian began, glancing back at the hallway where Mickey had gone to get his makeup done. 

"Yes, yes, yes!" Raphaël exclaimed, putting down his camera so he could clap with glee. "Go now, before you lose your nerve!"

"The fuck's goin' on?" Mickey called, aggravated by the abrupt halt to the shoot. All he wanted to do was get it over with so he could spend their last day in Paris with Ian doing anything but working. 

"You're getting some company," Dante informed him, causing dark eyebrows to lift with surprise.

"That right, Gallagher?" He questioned, biting his lip as he looked at his husband nodding back at him. Mickey smiled. "Better hurry the fuck up then." Suddenly, he wasn't in a rush to get out of there.

Just as he promised, Raphaël had cleared the set by the time Ian returned in a white robe. He could feel every nerve prickle in his body as he walked towards Mickey. He had never had ambitions of being in front of the camera, feeling much more comfortable at his typical place behind it. Even the selfies Jade forced him to take with her felt awkward. He knew he was attractive, that wasn’t the problem; it was more the attention of it all. However, seeing the sheer look of bliss on Mickey’s face as he approached him, made the apprehension melt away. 

"Ian, when you're ready, you'll drop the robe and sit on the chair. Mickey you get onto his lap and face him then we will go from there," the photographer directed.

“Used to this position, huh, baby?” Mickey whispered as he climbed onto Ian. Ian draped his arms low around his waist and slotted his lips against his husband’s for a sweet kiss that became increasingly naughty as the brunet responded to it. They were so wrapped up in each other that they didn’t hear the nearly inaudible clicks of Raphaël’s camera. 

“I love you,” Ian said softly, lifting a hand to the nape of Mickey’s neck so he could pull him in impossibly closer. The brunet tangled his tongue around his husband’s with increased fervor and ran his fingers down his freckled cheek. 

“This body,” he hummed, “I shouldn’t be fucking covering it.” He traced the outline of Ian’s abs with his fingernails, sending chills down the redhead’s spine. “Ain’t gonna lie though, happy I don’t gotta share it with anyone.” 

“All yours,” Ian assured him tugging on his bottom lip with his teeth. 

They both startled when they heard Raphaël’s voice cut through their breaths. “Mickey arch your back a little more, honey.” Mickey cleared his throat and did as he was told making sure his ass was better presented to the camera. 

“Pants look fabulous,” the photographer complimented, prompting Ian to crane his neck and take a glance over Mickey’s shoulder. The pants were fine, but goddamn his ass was perfect. It was packed in tight, looking nice and stacked pressed against his thighs. 

His lips adhered to Mickey’s earlobe as he whispered, “Wanna fucking bite it.”

The model laughed and then moaned quietly when Ian trailed his lips down the length of his neck, beginning to suck on the soft skin. Without giving it much thought, he slid his long fingers under the waistband of the grey slacks and grabbed a hold of Mickey’s flesh. 

“Yes, do what feels natural,” Raphaël urged, shaking his head in disbelief at the pure love and desire that was radiating from the couple. “These are beautiful. I’m going to send you every one of them. Promise me you’ll frame them and hang them all over your house. You are art.” 

They didn’t respond, still lost in the moment, in each other. Compelled to answer the question that had infiltrated his mind earlier, he moved the pad of his ring finger to Mickey’s sacral dimple and gingerly inched it down to search for his cum. He smiled against the crook of his husband’s neck when he felt the slightest trickle coming from his hole. 

"You’re bad, Gallagher,” Mickey chided gently with a smirk on his lips, “fucking love it.” 

“Want you to be bad for me later,” he whispered, “just like this.”

“You wanna watch your bad boy ride?” he flirted, “need you fucking spanking me when I do. Show me who owns this ass.”

“It’s fucking mine,” Ian stated, his tone low and full of lust. He scooted his hand up so he could grasp Mickey’s full cheeks again. “Not gonna let you ever forget that shit.” 

Mickey bit his lip and let his head fall back, never failing to be pulled apart by how aggressive his shy guy was in the bedroom. 

“So hard for me, aren’t you baby?” He murmured breathlessly, “Can’t wait to watch that thick cock bob up and down when you bounce on my dick.” 

The brunet cleared his throat and let out a shaky sigh, “You get what you need, man?” He called back to Raphaël, who was still furiously snapping away. 

“Want to get a few more of you facing the other way,” the photographer said, nearly breathlessly. 

“Yeah, that ain’t gonna fucking work unless you wanna see my dick hulking outta these pants,” Mickey replied without a tinge of humor in his tone. 

“I mean, we’re all adults here,” Raphaël said simply, drawing a narrowed eyed glare from Ian, who was vacillating between complete mortification at what the camera may have caught and an utter disregard of anything besides what was going on in his husband’s pants. He was dying to shimmy them off of him and plow the hell out of his hole. He wanted him to be oozing his cum through the whole plane ride home.

“You got it?” Mickey asked again, very obviously pushing his hips back so he could adjust himself. 

“He got what he needed 15 minutes ago,” Dante teased, earning him a smack upside the head from the photographer. “We just didn’t want to interrupt the magic.”

“There’s no doubt The Kooples are going to go with one of these absolutely stunning photos for the campaign,” Raphaël stated, “So whether you like it or not… my boy, you are a model.”

“I’m a prop,” Ian retorted, his cheeks pink. “Mick’s the model.” 

“You two are truly beautiful together,” Raphaël said as he put his camera into its case, “To many more years of happiness.”

“Thank you,” they both said, slowly standing up from the chair. 

Ian immediately wrapped himself in the robe, wanting to hide the very obvious hard-on that was hanging in his boxer briefs. He fought the urge to bend Mickey over right there or take him into the dressing room and bang the shit out of him. He knew they needed to keep it professional, no matter they were. The account was too big for Mickey to lose. 

They got dressed in record time and practically ran back to their hotel to finish what they’d started. And they finished over and over again.


	10. Chapter 10

As soon as they arrived home from Paris, Ian and Mickey were pulled in opposite directions, with both of their schedules full of bookings. They carved out as many moments as they could to be together but found that the only significant amount of time they had was late at night. Wanting to make the most of those hours, they barely slept; instead opting to go out for midnight diner breakfasts, watch movies, make out, talk and fuck. By Friday, their lack of rest had caught up to them, but so had their friends. 

Jade (7:02pm): I better C U & ur hot hub at FP in an hour

Ian (7:04pm): We’ll B there

Jade (7:05pm): Got like 15 ppl expecting U

Jade (7:07pm): Including a sister-in-law who’s really excited to meet U

Ian (7:09pm): Yeah Mick told me she’s coming

Jade (7:10pm): She’s SO HOT

Ian (7:11pm): U met her?

Jade (7:11pm): Yeah got in touch when I got Mickey’s list of ppl

Jade (7:12pm): She’s been helping me with the plans 4 2night 

Jade (7:12pm): I’m in LOVE

Jade (7:13pm): Think she’ll marry me in Paris? Think that’s a genetic trait?

Ian (7:15pm): IDK ask her

Ian (7:15pm): What kinda plans? Thought we were just doing lowkey @ FP???

Jade (7:16): C U SOON BITCH

“What’s up?” Mickey asked, regarding his husband with concern as he sprayed his neck with cologne.

“Nothing,” he replied, shaking his head and sliding his phone back into his pocket, “They’re not keeping it simple tonight. I guess Jade’s been in touch with Mandy and they’ve been planning some kind of shit.” 

“Oh man, we’re fucked,” the brunet sighed, grinning when his husband looped his arm around his waist and nuzzled his nose against his skin.

“Mmm,” Ian hummed, inhaling deeply. Somehow the notes of Mickey’s cologne were made even more delicious when layered with his intoxicating scent. He was sure it was his husband’s pheromones that got him so high and he loved it.

“The smelling?” Mickey admonished without heat, rubbing Ian’s back as they embraced. 

“Can’t get enough of you,” he admitted, pink cheeks still pressed against Mickey’s neck, “my man.”

“Gotta stop talking like that or I’m gonna have to bend over right here. Those bitches will have our asses if we're late.”

“How ‘bout I have your ass instead?” Ian asked, shoving Mickey down so his chest was flank against the vanity and his ass was presented in the air. Holding the brunet’s neck down with his left hand he unbuttoned his jeans with the right and yanked them down so they were rested just below his cheeks. "I’ll be fast,” he assured him as he unzipped his own pants. 

Noticing the amused look on Mickey’s face reflected in the mirror, he laid a hard spank on his ass. The brunet grunted and then bit into his tattooed knuckles when Ian raised his hand high and slapped the red skin again. 

"You think it's funny that you do this to me? That I live my life hard for you?" Ian demanded, his voice dripping with desire. 

"Nah, think it's hot as fuck," Mickey replied, licking his lips wantonly as he looked back at Ian's excitement standing proudly from his groin, "you're hot as fuck." Gone was the blushing boy from moments earlier, replaced by the beast that took over when the blood traveled away from Ian's brain and down to his dick. 

Mickey gasped when freckled fingers clasped around the front of his neck, holding him tight while he used the other hand to line himself up with his still stretched hole. 

Ian plunged in fully with one thrust, the pressure causing his Mickey's body to instinctively jolt forward. Squeezing his neck, Ian pulled him in closer rather than letting him get away and groaned at the sound of his husband's broken whine. 

"I'm about to pound that hole. You gonna be able to take it for me?" Ian growled, trading out the hand that was around Mickey's neck with the crook of his arm and wrapping his other arm around his waist so he could get better leverage. He pulled his lover's body up so he was practically sitting on his dick and waited for the panting man to respond. 

"Fuck," Mickey grunted as the head of Ian's cock bored into his prostate, "know I'm gonna take it for your, baby."

That was all he needed to hear to begin pistoning deep inside of his husband's body. In the mirror, Ian could see Mickey's eyes pinched shut and his teeth dug into his bottom lip as the strong dick slammed into his ass. "Like it?" 

Mickey nodded as he continued to get rocked by his husband's cock. 

"Tell me," Ian demanded, "Wanna hear you."

"Fucking love it," he crooned, his voice jumping with every snap of husband's hips. 

"What d'you love?" He prompted, mesmerized by the sight of the skin on Mickey's full dick being pulled so tightly by his raging hard on that it was turning red.

"You," Mickey breathed, desperately reaching a hand back to touch Ian's face. 

The redhead loosened his grip and hunched over his husband's back so Mickey was supporting the majority of their weight by pressing his hands against the marble countertop. Ian craned his neck to catch his man's full lips and kiss him ardently as he continued to fuck him. "I love you," he promised as the motion of their bodies peeled their lips apart.

Though the shower had long since been shut off, the mirror fogged with the heat of their pleasured exhales. When Mickey dropped his arm to grip his dick, Ian knew he was close. He straightened his body out so he could angle his hips to hit Mickey's sweet spot and grabbed a handful of black strands to tug hard while he finished. Once his husband was a panting heap below him, Ian allowed himself to follow him over the edge. As he came, his body trembled and his fingers twitched so violently that he let go of Mickey's hair. 

"Goddamn," Mickey sighed, resting his forehead against the cool marble as he reached to turn on the faucet, "that was fucking good, man."

"Mmm." Ian pressed his lips against the sliver of skin between Mickey's hairline and the collar of his t-shirt. 

"Always turn me out," he crooned las he splashed his face with cold water. When he looked back at Ian, he grinned at the obvious pinkness that was creeping across his cheeks. Standing up, he kissed his burning skin. "After all that shit, you blush," he laughed giving his husband a pat on his ass before leaving the room, "fucked up my hair. Gonna have to wear a hat," he called from the bedroom.

"You look hot in a hat," Ian said as he brushed his teeth, thinking that Mickey looked hot in anything.

"You give any thought to whether you wanna stay in DUMBO or look for something bigger than your place in Manhattan?" Mickey questioned, leaning against the frame of the door, adjusting his Mets hat. 

"I like it here," Ian replied, after he spit his toothpaste. "You're here, so..."

"I'll be anywhere you wanna be," he said easily, curving the bill of his hat with his hand. 

"I like it here," Ian repeated, giving him a reassuring grin. "Let's go." He zipped up his jeans and followed Mickey out the door. "Wanna get a new bed though."

"Really? My shit's comfortable," Mickey stated, lighting up a cigarette once they hit the open air. 

"I've had better," he replied, earning signature raised eyebrows from his husband.

"That right?"

"Mmmhmm," Ian answered, lighting his own cigarette up. "Plus, don't like that you fucked with other guys in it."

"Ah, don't be jealous, Gallagher," he scoffed playfully, "Y'know I was a virgin before we met."

"Don't fuck like a virgin," Ian retorted with a click of his tongue.

"How many virgins have you fucked?" Mickey questioned, eyeing his husband as they crossed the street.

"Enough to know," he replied plainly.

"Told me you weren't a player," Mickey reminded him with a tisk, nudging Ian's arm with his shoulder. 

"Would a player ever say he was a player?" the redhead mused with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

"Fuck, thought I was special," Mickey groused with mock indignation. He licked his lips and grinned when Ian reached over to grab his hand. 

"Hey Mickey," a man greeted, seeming to appear from the shadows as Ian and Mickey made their way to the bus. He was holding up a camera and reeked of desperation.

"Just minding my business with my husband, man. Don't got anything to say," Mickey stated with an obvious edge in his inflection. 

"That's alright, that's okay," the paparazzo said quickly, snapping away, "just pulling in a few pictures. Everybody's gotta get paid."

"Some people do it on their own though, not on the backs of other motherfuckers," the model chided, noticing the discomfort on Ian's face. "If you got what you need, fuck off, alright?"

The man nodded and turned his camera to Ian. "Got a protective husband, huh, Ian?" 

Ian didn't answer, instead opting to keep his head down and focusing on each crack in the sidewalk as they past them. 

"You're pretty shy," the paparazzo stated, waiting for Ian to answer the non-question. "How'd you score a model?"

"Enough. Get lost," Mickey ordered, taking one last drag of his cigarette before stamping it out. 

"Takes pretty good care of you, right?" the man pressed, obviously looking for a reaction. 

"Grew up on the South Side of Chicago," Ian began softly, finally looking up into the annoying asshole's camera, "Can handle my own. Wanna see how?" he challenged, tossing his cigarette towards the man who was walking backwards in front of him. 

He quickly shook his head and lowered his camera. "Sorry guys. Got what I needed," he said with a shrug, "have a good night." He headed in the opposite direction, much to Ian's surprise. 

"They just wanna fuck with you enough to get a unique picture or sound byte," Mickey explained when he noticed the confusion on his husband's face. He smirked and tickled the palm of Ian's hand, "but you did good South Side." 

"Yeah?" 

"Handling your own," Mickey commended with a nod.

"Handled yours, too," Ian teased, drawing a laugh from his husband's lips, "love to handle yours."

"You get to handle that shit for life," the brunet mused. 

Ian shook his head in disbelief and squeezed Mickey's hand. He couldn't wait.


	11. Chapter 11

They arrived at Forrest Point right on time and were immediately greeted by a sea of smiling faces and open arms. Though neither Ian nor Mickey was really much of a hugger, they did their best to return all the love they were receiving by at least wrapping their arms around their excited friends. 

Attention had never been something that Ian sought. Being the quintessential middle child, he found it easy to blend in with the pack and move with the tide. He rarely stirred the pot, always backing his siblings up, but never making his way to the front of a conflict. From an early age, he’d realized it was easier to acquiesce than to hold his ground over something that wouldn’t matter anymore in mere minutes, hours or days. It wasn’t that he didn’t have opinions on things, he did; he just didn’t feel compelled to share his thoughts freely, realizing that one of his siblings most likely felt the same way and it would be more advantageous to tag along with them.

Though it was strange, he couldn’t help but relish in the attention he received when he was with Mickey. Whether it was the limelight that shined on his husband or people’s interest in their whirlwind love story, Ian just liked to be regarded in the same breath as him. With his siblings, he’d gone along because he didn’t have the interest in diverting, but with Mickey it felt like they were a team, a pair. 

After several quick introduction and some reintroductions, Mickey hooked his finger through one of Ian's belt loops and pulled him to the end of the table where Mandy was standing with her arms crossed over her chest. "Took you long enough to get to me," She chided playfully, practically jumping on her brother to give him a tight hug. 

"Should've been standing in front of everyone if you were so worried about it, bitch," he retorted, grumbling 'fucker' when Mandy slapped the bill of his hat, causing it to tumble from his head onto the pavers below. 

"Sex hair," she teased, messing it up even more before Mickey was able to get the cap back on. He shrugged her off and looked at Ian, who was standing beside him, amused. 

“Wouldn’t be laughing, Gallagher. She’s gonna be on to you next,” Mickey stated, tilting his head and biting his lip. He turned back to his sister, “Mandy, this is Ian. Ian, Mandy.”

The beautiful black haired woman’s feet remained planted as she looked her brother-in-law over; an incredibly obvious appraisal. Tucking his hands into his jean pockets, he alternated between glancing at Mandy, Mickey and the ground. "I saw pictures," she began, speaking to her brother though she was continuing to gaze at Ian, "but they didn't do him half the justice he deserves." She moved closer and put her hands on fiery red cheeks. "He's fucking gorgeous," she said, staring into nervous green eyes, "you did good, Mick."

Ian dropped his face though Mandy's hands still remained on it. 

"You're creeping him the fuck out," Mickey admonished, knocking her arm so she'd drop it. "How long have you been here and how much have you had to drink, skank?"

"No, it's fine," the redhead said, looking up and giving Mandy a shy smile, "It's nice to meet you."

"Fuck, he's cute," she mused, shaking her head in equal parts disbelief and adoration, "I get it now. I thought you lost your fucking mind, but holy shit, the blushing. Come the fuck on! I get it." She patted Ian companionably and grinned before looking at her brother. "And you're happy?" 

Mickey bit his lower lip and adjusted his hat while nodding his confirmation. He rolled his eyes as soon as Mandy reached for his hand and held it tight in order to check out his new hardware. 

"Can't believe you're wearing a wedding ring. I never thought I'd see the day. He was a player," she informed Ian before looking back at her brother who was shooting daggers her with his ice blue eyes, "I mean, a serious player," she continued as Mickey pulled his hand away to rest it very purposefully on his husband's ass.

"Ian was too," Jade interjected, wrapping her arm loosely around Mandy's slim waist.

"That right?" Mickey questioned, eyebrows raised high. Ian had told him about his past 'relationships' but that didn't mean he was going to stop giving him shit. 

"The worst!" Jade confirmed, smiling at Mandy, who was now giving her her full attention. "If I had a dollar for every man he left broken in his wake, I'd be a millionaire."

"A millionaire?" Ian scoffed, throwing his finger up at his friend, "You'd have, like, enough cash for a McDonald's value meal... maybe."

"They have good fries," she joked with a shit eating grin. "Don't let the sweet look fool you. Ian can be totally savage." 

"Jade," the redhead warned, giving her a look that screamed 'shut the fuck up.' 

"So can Mick," Mandy said with a shrug. "Maybe that's the key to lifelong happiness: Find an asshole who pulled the same shit as you did and lock them down. I mean, you're bound to be able to recognize your shit at that point, if you did the same stuff. So you just stop the other one from doing it."

"Y'know, you guys seem to be enjoying this philosophical discussion on shit that don't matter," Mickey stated lighting up a cigarette to slide between Ian's lips before sparking yo his own, "while you work it out, we're gonna go get some fucking drinks."

Ian took a drag and laughed when as they walked away, able to hear Mandy confess her ardor behind them. "I'm kinda obsessed with him," she confessed, "so, so cute."

"Join the club," his friend laughed, "he's obsessed with your brother. I can tell." As far as Ian was concerned, she'd gotten that right. He couldn't get enough of him. Just the act of standing next to Mickey excited him to no end, and it wasn't just his dick that was worked up. In their circumstances, it was understandable that the initial tie that bound them was the banging. They had damn good sex, but that wasn't what stood out to either of them as something that felt like forever. It was the way their kisses ignited the flame that lit up their lives and the slightest touches sparked a contentedness that neither of them had known before. It was a different feeling for each of them to be lead by their souls rather than a carnal desire; though that was most definitely present in spades. They had both found it easy to fall in love, when they were landing on each other. 

"You alright?" Mickey questioned as they approached the bar.

Though Ian was entirely capable of taking care of himself, he loved that Mickey was consistently concerned, as if every single one of his emotions was valid and all of his thoughts worth consideration. "I'm good," Ian assured, smiling when Mickey grabbed him by the nape of the neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Once they were connected, he tipped the bill of Mickey's Mets hat up so he could get in closer. The way the light stumble on his husband's chin brushed against his sensitive skin, drove him absolutely crazy in the best possible ways.

"Think we'll always be like this?" The redhead questioned, his lips resting against Mickey's.

"Loving you feels like a fucking promise, Gallagher. Don't know how to describe it."

"Would love to hear you try…"

"Sure you would, quiet ass motherfucker," Mickey chuckled, "you can get away with that shit with other people, but with me," he clicked his tongue, "with me, it's different. Love hearing you.. what you think, what you want."

"Want you," Ian replied simply, falling back into their kiss.

"Hey lovebirds!" Lucy called from where the group was sitting, causing them to abruptly pull apart. "Get your adorable asses over here. We need to grill you!" 

"She's annoying," Mickey stated, earning a nod of agreement from Ian. They ordered their beer and headed back to the long table, taking a seat in the space that was left open for them in the middle. 

“For you,” Mandy said, tossing them both black t-shirts. They straightened them out and pursed their lips at the sight of the word ‘husband’ printed on the chest. “Put them on!”

Mickey flipped his sister the bird, while Ian shook his head ‘no.’

“They’re all annoying,” the blushing redhead murmured. 

“Oh come on,” Mandy whined, “You assholes ran off and left us all out of the celebration. The least you could do is have some fun with us now!” 

“How’s this fun for me?” Ian questioned, biting his lip and looking at Mandy in challenge.

All it took was one very deadly glare from his sister-in-law to have Ian shutting his mouth and putting the t-shirt on over his white v-neck. The brunet punched out a laugh at the sight of his man with the word ‘husband’ blazed across his chest. “You’re really gonna leave me here with my dick in my hand?” Ian asked Mickey, who nodded an emphatic ‘yes.’ 

“I think so.”

“It’s probably gonna mean that you’re gonna end up having your own dick in your hand for a while then,” he challenged quietly with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. 

“Prick,” Mickey muttered, taking off his hat so he could pull the t-shirt on and look at Ian with raised eyebrows. “You happy now?” 

“Smile!” Lucy prompted, holding her phone up in their faces. As if on instinct, they both threw their middle fingers up at her. “Such sweeties!”

“Get the cake, get the cake,” Mandy hurried Jade, “before they take them off.” 

Jade did as her crush told her, pulling a pink bakery box out from under the bench. She haphazardly ripped the sides off and presented a small cake with the words ‘Congratulations M + I’ scrolled on the top of it. 

“Did you bring a serving set?” Kate questioned, laughing at the ‘oh shit’ look on her friend’s face, “they probably have something here,” she said standing up to find their waiter.

“They can just use forks,” Leo suggested, unrolling one of the set up and handing a fork to Ian before doing the same with another for Mickey. 

“We don’t gotta blow out candles or anything?” Mickey asked, nudging his nostril with his knuckle uncomfortably. 

“Sure you guys have been doing plenty blowing,” Mandy joked with a wink, earning herself yet another flip of the bird.

Mickey clicked his tongue and sighed as he dug his fork into the confection. “No funny shit, Firecrotch,” he warned Ian, who was smirking in a particularly menacing way.

“I’ll keep it clean if you do,” Ian promised, mirroring his husband’s movements. He smiled when Mickey took the fork and slid icing along his bottom lip before doing the same to Ian’s. 

“C’mere,” the brunet summoned, grabbing the cradle of Ian’s skull to smash their mouths together. The kiss was equal parts sweet, sticky and perfect; but all them.

“If that’s clean than I don’t want to know what dirty is,” Lucy joked, fanning herself in an exaggerated way that had her boyfriend looking at her none too impressed. 

“I do,” Kate admitted with a shrug. “No shame.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Tali and Amber! Thanks for all the inspiration pics ;)

Ian knew that the Honeymoon had to end sometime, but that didn't make it any easier when it did. It was only a few days after the gathering at Forrest Point that he had to say goodbye to Mickey. Though they hadn't had a chance to take a proper vacation after their whirlwind nuptials, just lying in bed with Mickey felt like an escape to him. They'd only known each other for a little over a month, but since they'd been sharing a bed, they hadn't missed a night. He knew it had been too good to be true that all of Mickey's bookings after Paris had been in New York, so he tried not allow himself to be too disappointed when his husband's next two jobs were going to pull him away to Los Angeles for seven of the next ten days. 

"You sure you don't just want to stay through?" Ian questioned as Mickey traced his fingertip over the dips and cuts of his abdominal muscles. 

"Goddamn, never gonna get over this body,” He mused, causing his husband’s cheeks to flush, “You trying to get rid of me, Firecrotch?”

“No, of course not, it’s just… before me you said you would’ve stayed in LA so you didn’t have to fly back and forth, but now…” he paused and shook his head, “I just feel bad that you have to come to NYC for like, two days and then go back.”

“Don’t have to, want to,” Mickey corrected with a tisk, “Traveling ain’t shit to me.I’m used to it, alright? And before I didn’t have anything to come back to, now I do.” 

Ian nodded and gave him a soft smile. “Well, I’m happy you want to.” He ran his fingers through Mickey’s hair and moved his face closer to his husband’s on the pillow they were sharing. Their lips touched gingerly; the kissing equivalent to a whisper. “I’m gonna miss you.” His words were sincere, reverberating in his chest, adding to the ache. Realistically he knew that three days wasn’t a long time, but 72 hours would feel like an eternity without him. He wondered how he’d ever existed for 25 years not knowing him. 

“I’ll miss you too, baby,” Mickey sighed, licking his lips before pressing them against Ian’s again. He sat up and rubbed his forehead as if he was trying to erase the thoughts in his mind. “I gotta get ready. Call me an Uber, tell ‘em 20, and then get your freckled ass into the shower with me.” He gave that freckled ass a smack for affect before climbing out of bed. 

They put good use to their stolen moments, kissing while the warm spray of the shower cascaded over them; hands explored every curve of their bodies as devotions dripped from their lips. Before they were ready for it, they were riding down the elevator towards goodbye.

“I’ll call you when I land, okay?” Mickey promised as Ian opened the door to the Uber for him. They shared one last embrace, neither of them giving a fuck that they were being entirely too dramatic for the circumstances. Ian couldn’t even begin to imagine how difficult it would be if they had to spend a significant amount of time away from each other. Watching as the car pulled out onto the busy street, he wondered how he was going to get through the next several days.

He distractedly made it through his afternoon shoot, getting quite a bit of shit from Andy for his preoccupation. 

“You feeling alright?” His assistant asked, his eyes narrowed skeptically.

“Yeah, didn’t get a lot of sleep last night,” Ian replied, placing his camera into its bag. It wasn’t a lie, but he’d hardly been getting any sleep for the past month and functioned way better than he had been that day.

Andy nodded, though it was clear he didn’t necessarily believe him. “I sent you the last of the Rick Owens edits. I think we’re pretty close to done with them but you’ll probably disagree,” he said with a smirk, quite aware that his boss was a perfectionist when it came to his work. 

“I’m sure you did great, but I’ll take a look at them when I get home tonight,” Ian replied giving Andy a companionable smile. 

“It was kinda weird,” the other man admitted as he pulled the straps of his backpack onto his shoulders, “I mean, that’s your husband. You met him that day and he’s your husband now. And the fact that I was, you know, removing a freckle from your man’s ass… kinda weird.” 

“You removed his freckle?” Ian questioned, eyes wide. “Why the fuck did you do that?”

“We always brush imperfections,” Andy reminded him simply, “Got the scar on his forehead and the birthmark on his hand, too.” 

As far as Ian was concerned every inch of his husband’s body was perfect. He knew that if it was any other model he would’ve smoothed the marks out too, but it wasn’t any other model; It was Mickey. His Mickey. He sighed at the realization that he was going to have a lot more work than he had intended that evening now that he needed to go back to the originals. After thanking Andy for his work, he headed into the night to meet Jade and Kate for dinner. 

It was strange, but with Mickey away he felt like everything had been a dream. When he found himself worrying that the other man had been a beautiful figment of his imagination, created to assuage a hole in his heart, he rubbed his fingers over his wedding ring and exhaled. He was real. They were real. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and smiled when he saw he’d missed a few texts from his husband.

Mickey (6:22pm): LA traffic can suck my dick

Mickey (6:24pm): NVM got U for that

Mickey (6:36pm): ur prob still shooting

Mickey (7:12pm): still bumper 2 bumper 

Mickey (7:15pm): Wish U were here

Mickey (7:15pm): 2 suffer with me :-P

Mickey (7:23pm): JK sux when ur not around

Ian (8:03pm): Just finished. U get where u were goin?

Ian grinned when he received a picture of an In and Out cheeseburger and fries as a response.  
Ian (8:05pm): Looks good

Mickey (8:12pm): Don’t taste as good as UR cock, but it’s alright

Ian (8:14pm): Who’re u with?

Mickey (8:14pm): Few of my LA boys I told U bout

The nerves on the back of Ian’s neck prickled when he read the message. Mickey had been very forthcoming about the guys he hung out when he was in Los Angeles. They were also models, and they’d all started to chill after they ran into each other at the same go-sees year after year. From what Mickey’d shared, three out of the four of the guys were straight and the other one, Alonzo, was pan. It was Alonzo that got under his skin. He hated his name, his face, the fact that he was so easily found on Instagram, and that he was hot as hell. What he hated the most was that his husband used to fuck around with him. According to Mickey, it was never anything serious and strictly ‘busting a nut when you gotta bust.’ Unfortunately, that didn’t make the jealous redhead feel any better. 

Ian (8:17pm): All of them show?

Mickey (8:18pm): Yeah

Ian (8:20): Going to din with J & K

Ian didn’t type anything else because he wasn’t sure what else to say. Instead, he tucked his phone into his back pocket and allowed Jade and Kate to talk him down for the next two hours at dinner. They were patient and tried not to remind him that marrying a model was probably the worst thing that a guy like him could do. He'd purposely avoided getting serious with models in the past because he couldn't take the way other people would ogle over them. He didn't like people coveting what was his. He'd made an exception for Mickey, because Mickey was worth the torture. 

“Your eyes are green for a reason,” Jade had reminded him with a click of her tongue as they paid the bill.

He felt a bit better on his way home when he saw a slew of texts from his husband, one cuter than the next.

Mickey (9:25pm): Hope UR dinner tastes as good as my ass

Mickey (9:10pm): Only 6 here so I’m gonna be chillin by them 4 a while.

Mickey (9:10pm): Prob gonna smoke n shit then go out to a few places. Will call B4 leave.

Mickey (9:25pm): Can’t get U off my mind baby

Mickey (9:27pm): Wouldn’t want 2

Ian (10:45pm): Going 2 do some editing then go 2 bed early so call when U can

The only benefit of being alone was that he would actually get a full nights rest. He knew he needed stock up on sleep before Mickey came back for the few days before heading to Los Angeles again. He was going to ravage him over and over and over again and he couldn’t fucking wait. He laid down on Mickey’s bed, which he guessed could be considered his too and started to look over the images from the shoot, reminded with every frame how incredible his husband was. He found that editing photographs of the brunet was an exercise in futility. His eyes locked on him and he couldn’t see anything but skin, eyes, lips, love. 

Reaching for one of Mickey’s hats that was lying on the nightstand, he took a deep inhale of the scent of before putting the snapback on his head backwards, in order to keep his unobstructed view of the computer screen. His nostrils being permeated by the smell of his husband and his eyes focused on the sight had him hard as a rock in his grey Calvin Klein boxer briefs. Deciding that he’d be able to attend to the task at hand more diligently after he’d blown his load, he grabbed his phone and sent a few shots of the outline of his dick to Mickey, who texted back at record speed. 

Mickey (11:31pm): WYD

Ian (11:32pm): Editing UR pics from RO shoot & I can’t fucking take it

Ian (11:33pm): Look what U do to me

Mickey (11:34pm): I fuckin C it

Mickey (11:35pm): Stay like that. Gimme 10. Don’t touch URself 

Ian (11:36pm): What R we doin?

Mickey (11:36pm): Fucking

Ian smiled and adjusted his hard-on. He couldn’t wait.


	13. Chapter 13

Mickey had told him ten minutes but it only took eight until Ian's computer was ringing with an incoming Skype call. As soon as he answered, he was greeted by his husband leaning against the headboard of a bed with an amused look on his face. 

"You're fucking bad, Gallagher," he admonished, playfully shaking his head, "I'm just going about my business and all of a sudden I see that beast."

"It's your fault," Ian said with a shrug, palming his dick as he looked into his husband's clear blue eyes. 

"Yeah, how's that?" Mickey challenged, raising his eyebrows. 

"Every picture of you, Mick, every frame, every angle, is so goddamn hot... I couldn't get through the first ten without my cock getting hard." 

"So you thought I should see what I did to you, huh?" He asked licking his full lips. He grinned at the predictable flush that took over his husband's face. "Wanted to remind me that I'd rather be bouncing on my man's pole right now than doing fuckall else. 

"Where are you?" Ian ventured, silently praying to an entity he knew wasn't listening that Mickey didn't say in Alonzo's room.

"Jace's room."

"What did you tell the guys?" He asked, feeling relief loosen the tightness in his chest. 

"That I had to talk to my husband," Mickey replied as if it was a stupid fucking question. 

"They give you hell?"

"What d'you think?" He questioned, with a click of the tongue, "Think I give a fuck when you're sending me shit like that? Show me."

"Show you what?" Ian asked coyly, stroking himself over the thin fabric of his boxer briefs. 

"You know what I wanna see," He said, very obviously sliding his hands below the waistband of his pants while keeping his eyes fixed on Ian as his breath swelled in his chest. "Lemme see it."

"You wanna see my cock?" 

"That shit's mine," Mickey corrected, "You hold it for me. Show me my cock."

Ian smiled, pulling down his underwear low enough to let his cock spring out and fill up the majority of the screen. 

"There it is," his husband crooned appreciatively, salaciously biting his lower lip, "Y'know how bad I want you in my mouth right now?" He shook his head, "I'd suck your brain outta that dick." 

Ian's body was pulsing with energy as he wrapped his hand tightly around the base of his cock and aimed the head to give a teasing tap against his computer screen. "Always fucking do," he complimented, beginning to slowly stroke his shaft, "you're my little cock fiend, can never get enough."

"Wanna be good for you," Mickey admitted softly, his tone changing as naturally Ian shifted into the dominant role, "wanna show you how much I want you."

"Show me, baby," Ian prompted, "show me how bad you want me."

Mickey did as he was told, pulling his dick out so Ian could see how worked up he was. "Like seeing how hard you get me? What those pictures did to me?" He swiped his slit with the side of thumb and dragged the precum down his smooth skin. "How I fucking drop everything at the sight of you? You wanna see that?"

"Fuck, I wanna feel you," Ian sighed, as if even the words themselves caused him physical pain. He rubbed a few beads of sweat off his forehead as he continued to watch his husband fight to keep his eyes open and trained on Ian as he pumped his dick.

"Beat it harder," Mickey urged, beginning to pick up his own pace. Ian did as he was told, watching his husband do the same. Everything was quiet, save the pulsing click of strong hands tugging hard dicks. 

When Ian recognized a familiar look on Mickey's face he peeled his hand off his cock and grunted a frustrated "stop."

The brunet did as he was told, looking at his husband with confusion and irritation. "I was right there, Gallagher. You weren't close?"

"I was, that's why we had to stop," Ian replied, pulling the hat off his head so he could wipe away the sweat the had accumulated at his hairline. 

Mickey momentarily forgot his annoyance when he saw the way red hair was sticking up in every direction, making his adorable husband appear even cuter than usual. "That's a look, man," he teased, causing Ian to turn his favorite shade of crimson. "I fucking love it. Reminds me of after we bang."

"If you were here I'd spank that hot ass," Ian stated, leaning back against the wall behind him and placing his hands at the cradle of his head. He licked his lips and deliberately glanced down at his cock that was standing proudly as the main feature on the screen. 

"I'd like it," Mickey reminded him, putting a hand back on his cock at the sight of his husband's new position. 

"I'd smack it so hard that your balls would jump," Ian informed him, shaking his head at the fact that Mickey was ignoring his directive to keep his hand off. "Get on your hands and knees and show me your hole."

Mickey grinned, entertained by Ian's vehemence. He made sure that his phone was secure against the pillows that were propping it up before turning around so his ass filled the screen. 

"Fuck," Ian moaned at the view, "you don't know how badly I wanna taste that. Spread your cheeks," he ordered, "Show me where you like to get fucked."

Mickey did as he was told, reaching back to slide his hands into his crack and pull himself apart for the camera. 

"Mmm, yeah, you love when I fuck that ass don't you?" Ian crooned, feeling precum drop down his shaft at the sight of his husband opened wide. "Lick your finger, baby. Get it nice and wet and show me how you'd open yourself up for me."

The angle made it difficult for Ian to see Mickey's tattooed finger slowly breaching his asshole. The muffled grunts from his husband's lips as he pushed in further along with the way his ass was presented were enough to have Ian thrumming with need until Mickey tentatively added a second digit. 

"Get on your back and spread your legs," Ian ordered, his voice wobbling like his knees. 

Ever the dutiful lover, Mickey obliged, hooking the back of his right leg over the crook of his arm as he continued to finger himself with the fingers on left hand. "Tell me what I am," he croaked, eyed gazing needfully at his husband, "please, need to fucking hear it."

"You're my good boy, Mick. So good for me," Ian praised in awe of his love, "Stretch yourself so nice for me. So lucky to have such a good boy."

"Like that I'm working my hole good for you? That I locked myself in here while my friends are smoking few feet away so I can show you how you own my ass."

"Yeah," Ian breathed, "Wanted that. Wanted you to show me."

Mickey bit his lip and nodded, dropping his leg so he could spread them both wide with bent knees. He continued to stretch himself, beginning to stroke his dick along with Ian. 

"Feel good?" 

"It ain't you," Mickey replied, voice broken by a soft whimper, "ain't you."

"Don't do that," Ian chided, drawing a perplexed look from his husband. 

"Do what?" He whispered, his body trembling from the duel sensation and the sight of Ian biceps muscles flexing as he pumped his dick. 

"Hold back your moans. Wanna hear you."

"Not alone," Mickey reminded him, his voice involuntarily climbing at the end of the statement. 

"Don't give a shit. Want them to hear what I do to you from you 3,000 miles away. Want them to know that," Ian panted, knowing from the far off gaze in his husband's eyes he was gone.

Mickey released the breath he'd been holding in a loud exhale that was followed by a slight whine and another sigh. 

"Like that," Ian nodded, increasing his pace, intent on cumming with his husband. 

Needy whimpers followed, growing more audible as Mickey's balls tightened and a familiar fire built in his belly. 

"Cum for me, baby. Cum all over yourself for me," Ian demanded, shaking his head and gnawing on the inside of his cheek as his dick twitched, ready for release.

Mickey let himself go with a pleasured moan, streams of cum cascading down his hand and onto his groin. He forced his eyes to stay open so he could see Ian do the same. 

"You better not jizz on my comforter," Jace called, interrupting the quiet moment of breath catching. 

Ian's eyes went wide and his cheeks grew an even deeper red than they already were.

"Mr. Fucking Innocent over here," Mickey laughed with a tisk, removing the finger from his ass with a grunt, "Swear you're possessed when you wanna bust."

"You turn me on," Ian stated with a shrug, watching as Mickey leaned over to grab tissues off Jace's nightstand and clean himself up.

"Wish I could lick you clean," Ian pouted, earning a head shake and smile from his husband. 

"Yeah, wish you could, too."

"Mick, we gotta roll, man!" A voice called.

"I gotta go," Mickey apologized, pulling his boxers up and grimacing at Ian. "Miss you, baby."

"Miss you, too," Ian replied sincerely, feeling a wave of sadness crash over him at the idea at ending the call. 

"I'll be home late, but I'll call you tomorrow morning before my shoot, alright?"

Ian nodded. 

"Hey," Mickey said, recognizing his husband's gloominess, "two more days."

"Two more days," Ian repeated with a sigh.

He would count down the minutes. They hung up without further discussion and Ian jumped into the shower, knowing he'd be able to focus on the editing, at least for a little while.


	14. Chapter 14

Ian couldn't help but be irritated that he had to give a few hours of the three short days he had with Mickey to a work function. The only saving grace was that he could bring Mickey along with him. He hadn't been able to keep his hands or eyes off his husband since he returned earlier that day. Though in the grand scheme of things it had only been a short amount of time away from one another, it felt like much more than that. He didn't know how Mickey was able to make him feel whole when he hadn't been in pieces before him, but he did. 

He'd always had his shit together. From a young age he'd been responsible, determined, driven. Maybe it was the ROTC training he'd received in high school that made him that way or just a natural propensity for maturity beyond his years. Either way, he'd never felt like he needed anything or anyone to keep him on a track to success. Somehow, being with Mickey made him even more resolute in his goals. He wanted to do right by his husband; he wanted to make him proud. 

"Your phone's ringing," Mickey called from their bedroom as Ian brushed his teeth a few feet away. 

"Who is it?" Ian garbled, mouth full of toothpaste. They were already running late and there was no way he had the time to get into a conversation with any of the four people who would actually call him at 8:00 on a Saturday night. 

"Lip." 

He was surprised by the answer. Contact with his brother had been sparse since his nuptials. Ian wasn't sure if it was because Lip didn't approve of the speed of their courtship, or he was pissed he hadn't been invited to the wedding, but it was clear something had been bothering him. As much as he wanted to know what that something was, he’d been too distracted by life with Mickey to press his brother on it. Eventually Lip would be forthcoming, but until then, Ian wasn’t going to go on an emotional exploration mission to uncover his feelings. He was, however, more than ready to hear them if Lip was ready to spill. Ian quickly spit the remaining fizz out and darted into the bedroom to grab his phone off his nightstand. 

"Hey,” he said into the phone, smiling at Mickey, who was buttoning up his grey collared shirt, ‘you look good,’ Ian mouthed to his husband, earning the middle finger in response. Though Mickey wanted to wear his signature black t-shirt and jeans, Ian had convinced him that it would probably be better if he dressed up a bit more than usual for the gallery opening. Admittedly, Mickey hadn’t given him too much shit about it and Ian found it incredibly sexy when his husband was pouty anyway. Win win. 

"Hey yourself,” Lip replied, "Long time no talk." 

"Thought that may have been on purpose.” 

"C’mon, man.” His brother laughed wryly as if the assumption was ludicrous. “You know it's not like that. I've been busy." 

"Yeah? How's work?" 

"Full of the usual shit. The fucking idiots are driving me to an early grave,” Lip stated with a sigh, “but I’m not teaching summer session this year, so there’s that at least.” 

“By fucking idiots you mean…” 

“My students,” Lip confirmed, “I’m sick of teaching the pre-requisite classes. When I get to higher level chem shit I’ll have smarter students, but that won’t be for a while. Gotta pay my dues.” 

“Sounds frustrating,” Ian sympathized, sitting at the end and balancing the phone between his ear and shoulder so he could pull on a pair of socks. 

"Is what it is. How’re things with you?” 

“Everything’s really good.” 

"You still married?" Lip questioned. 

"Fuck off." 

"What? I wasn't sure if lightning fast weddings led to express divorces.” Ian could hear the smirk in his brother’s tone. If it came from anybody else, he would’ve been peeved by the comment, but it was Lip, his brash and sarcastic brother. As acerbic as Lip’s tongue could be, he knew that when push came to shove, his brother had his back and always would. 

“Asshole,” Ian grumbled, rubbing his forehead, “That’s not gonna to be us. Every day we fall more in love.” 

“That right, Gallagher?” Mickey asked with a knowing nod that caused Ian to glance back at him and blush profusely, “You wanna write him a nice poem about it so he really feels that shit?” He grinned when Ian gave him the finger and climbed behind him on the bed to playfully squeeze his husband’s thin hips with his strong muscular thighs. 

“Stop,” Ian chuckled when Mickey buried his face in the side of his neck and kissed him precisely where he was the most ticklish.

“Is he trying to blow you while you’re on the phone with me?” Lip questioned impatiently, “Cause I’ve had to listen to you get enough head. One of the many perks of not sharing a room with your horny ass anymore is that I don’t have to hear it.” 

Able to distinguish his brother-in-law’s words clearly, even though the phone wasn’t against his ear, Mickey raised his eyebrows and bit his lip to give Ian an inquisitive look.

The redhead crinkled his nose and very pointedly looked away before barking into the phone, “There’s no blowing going on.” 

“Shit, really?” Lip asked, sounding softer than he had throughout the rest of the conversation, “you married him and he won’t suck dick?” 

“No, that’s not…” Ian sighed, “he’s not sucking my dick right now, but he does suck my dick.” He yelped at the hard punch he got in his arm from his husband, who was glaring at him. “What? We’re gay, so he was going to assume we, you know…”

“Could at least say I suck it good,” Mickey tisked with a laugh, messing up Ian’s hair before jumping off the bed to finish getting ready. 

“When do I get to meet the Hoover?” Lip questioned, much to Ian’s chagrin. 

“When do you get to meet Mickey,” the redhead corrected, shrugging when his husband looked over his shoulder at him, “When does Lip get to meet you, Mick?”

“Uh, we can go after the Rick Owens opening on the 14th? Leave on Sunday and come back Tuesday or Wednesday,” Mickey offered, stunning Ian in the process. 

“Seriously?” Ian inquired, dumbfounded.

“You just asked and I gave you an answer,” the brunet replied, regarding his husband like he was an alien before exiting the room to brush his teeth and put on his cologne. 

“Are you gonna be around Sunday the 15th to Wednesday the 18th?” Ian asked Lip, still reeling from the fact that Mickey had been so easygoing about going to Chicago to meet his family. They’d thrown the idea around a few times, but it always seemed like it would be within the year, rather than within the month. 

“Yeah, I don’t got shit going on,” Lip answered, “you guys really gonna come?”

“I guess so. I’m just,” Ian dropped his voice low, “Frank.”

“I know,” his brother sighed, “Did you tell him about the drunken piece of shit?”

“I did, but it’s different to hear about it than it is to experience it,” he said sadly, “I know I shouldn’t worry about it, because Mickey won’t be fazed, but I’m fucking fazed, you know? He’s gonna say dumb shit to him.” 

“Oh no doubt about that,” Lip agreed, “we all probably will to be honest, but Mickey loves you, right? This is the annoying shit that comes along with that. You meet his folks yet?” 

“Nah, his dad’s dead and his mom left when he was young like Monica, minus the Bipolar.”

“Lucky guy,” Lip mused.

“That’s what I tell him, but I’m not sure he agrees,” he laughed. “I met his sister though. Mandy. You’d like her.”

“Oh yeah? She hot?” 

“Gorgeous and such a ball buster.” 

He was still taken aback at how similar Mickey and Mandy were; from their blue eyes to the black hair and sarcastic wit. If he was being honest, the female Milkovich scared the shit out of him, but he had a feeling they would grow closer as the years passed. It was easy to imagine being able to build a strong relationship with her, especially when she seemed interested in doing the same. 

When he and Mickey had decided to get married, they knew the basics about each other and a little more, but the greater breadth of their lives together hadn't really infiltrated either of their one-track minds. They wanted to be with one another and nothing else mattered. Ian couldn't help but feel that it was an incredible bonus to have a sister-in-law he liked and could maybe even grow to love.

“My type,” Lip agreed. 

"How're things with Grace?" 

"Who?"

"Evidently, not good." He could never keep up with his brother's turbulent relationship, and admittedly, didn't really want to try. "Listen, I gotta go."

"What metropolitan thing are you two lovebirds doing tonight?"

"Gallery opening," Ian responded, somewhat reluctantly. He loved his life in NYC but it couldn't be more different than life on the South Side. Sometimes the disparity made him feel even farther from his family than just the distance on a plane. 

"Of course."

"I'll let you know flight details when we book them," Ian stated, ready to get off the phone and on with his night. The anxiety of a trip back home was all of a sudden looming in his mind. He wondered what Mickey would think of his family, of where he grew up. 

"Alright, bro. Talk to you soon."

Ian hung up the phone feeling more apprehensive than he had prior to the call. 

"You ready?" Mickey asked, standing at the threshold of the bedroom door.

"You really wanna go to the South Side and meet my family?" He questioned, the disbelief rife in his tone. 

Mickey shrugged and gnawed on the inside of his cheek. "Yeah, I guess. Why wouldn't I? You're my fucking husband, Firecrotch, ain't that the kinda shit that married people do?"

Ian nodded and stretched before following Mickey out of the apartment. 

"My family's crazy," the redhead said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Everybody's got a crazy family."

"Not like mine."

"Don't bother me," Mickey stated simply, looking at Ian out of the side of his eye. "More interested in all this head you used to get..."

Ian felt his cheeks grow hot as Mickey laid a smack on his ass. "How 'bout we go back to talking about my family?" he suggested, laughing when Mickey put him in a headlock and crooked his legs so he could kick his butt. With every smile his husband drew out of him, he felt his anxiety lessen... at least for now.


	15. Chapter 15

Ian went to art school with Norman Grant and he hadn’t really liked the guy much, even then. There were tons of reasons not to go to the opening of his newest exhibit at the Aperture Gallery, the most of obvious of which was his latent hostility towards the prick. Still, Norman was making a name for himself in the Fine Art Photography world, and when it came down to it, it was a sub-section of the industry that Ian had interest in breaking into. It wasn’t that he disliked commercial photography or found it unfulfilling. It was quite the opposite, actually, but even the edgiest campaign only allowed so much creativity. When it came down to it, the goal was to sell a product. While he considered his photos art, especially his fashion work, he couldn’t deny that at their core, they were advertisements and married with someone else’s vision. He wanted complete control and the only way to get that was to branch off into a different discipline. 

He hadn’t discussed his ambitions with anyone, too worried about putting it out there only to chicken out, or worse yet, fail. Somehow, he knew that Mickey would be supportive of whichever direction he decided on in the long-term, but he definitely wasn’t ready to broach the subject with him. He didn’t want his husband to wonder was why he was giving up a lucrative, successful career to try something new as soon as they’d committed their lives to each other in both love and finances. Mickey did exceedingly well, earning in the top 10% of male models, and though he was sure his husband knew he wasn’t a gold-digger, he didn’t want it to seem like he couldn’t pull his own weight. 

“Ian, so glad you could make it,” Norman greeted, approaching with a hug ready. 

The redhead reluctantly returned the embrace, unintentionally holding his breath as did. When he pulled away he gave his former classmate an awkward smile and gestured to Mickey. “Norm, meet my husband Mickey, Mick, Norman Grant.”

"Husband?" Norman asked, the surprise evident in his voice, "I didn't realize you were gay. Nice to meet you," he said shaking Mickey's hand. 

The brunet dutifully shook it back but didn't respond verbally, having already decided the guy was a douche he wasn't interested in conversing with.

"Your work looks great," Ian complimented, taking a sip of the wine he and Mickey had pulled off a passing tray moments earlier. "Darker than your last show."

"I played with exposures and composition a bit more. I wanted to bring an eeriness that made the audience feel uncomfortable."

Ian nodded, thinking that it wasn't a stretch for Norman to make people feel uncomfortable. "Well, you succeeded."

The other man smiled, flashing a set of crooked, yellow teeth. "So, are you still doing catalogue work?"

"Um..." Ian began, his face flushing red at the inquiry, "I haven't done catalogue stuff for a while. I'm mostly doing shoots for prominent designers in the fashion industry." He felt Mickey's hand rest protectively on the small of his back. 

"I'd ask you who you've worked with, but I've always been exceedingly interested in more artistic creative endeavors so I have absolutely no clue about fashion," he said with a laugh, giving Ian a playful slap on the arm.

"Yeah, no shit," Mickey snarked, very obviously looking the man up and down with disapproval.

Ian blushed hard while Norman appeared to be unfazed by the insult. "What do you do, Mickey?" he asked, clearly not picking up the other man's 'go fuck yourself' vibes.

"I'm a model," he replied simply, much to Norman's delight.

"You're kidding me? Don't tell me you two met through work. This is like a romantic comedy."

"Looks like you're the only one laughing," Mickey pointed out, nudging his knuckle against the side of his nose while shooting daggers at the dweeb with his eyes. 

"A lot of people meet through work," Ian stated, feeling anger prickle his nerves. Somehow engaging in conversation with the prick had convinced Ian that no amount of possible career assistance was worth spending any more time with Norman. 

"Oh, you know I'm just teasing," Norman said lightly, giving Ian's arm another smack. 

"Norman!" A heavy man in a smart suit exclaimed, walking right into the conversation. "You've really outdone yourself this time!" 

Ian and Mickey took the distraction as their chance to get away from the artist and they wordlessly chugged their wine as the hauled ass across the room. 

"One more then we fuck off to a diner?" Mickey suggested, waving a cater waiter down so he could grab two glasses off his tray.

"Sounds good," Ian agreed, eagerly working on his second drink. 

"Y'know I don't like any of his shit," Mickey stated after a long moment of weighted silence. "Don't think he's got a good eye."

Ian shrugged, gazing at a few of the pieces that were hanging on the wall in front of him. He could hear the near constant whispers of people complimenting the work in the background, while he tried to focus on Mickey's words. 

"You think it's good?" 

"Everybody seems to, right? I mean, this is his second showing in Aperture. That's a big deal," he replied, feeling almost numb. The truth was, he thought Norman's work was absolute shit and he couldn't figure out why it was so goddamn popular in the art world. 

"These people," Mickey began, gesturing at the well-dressed crowd around them, "they're sheep. They're told something's good so they believe it. They consume it like the motherfucking brain dead assholes they are and then move onto the next big thing." He paused and watched as his husband exhaled deeply. "You think it's good?" he repeated, keeping his eyes trained on Ian's perfect side profile. 

"I don't," Ian answered plainly, staring at a grainy mess in a fancy frame. 

"Then it's not," he said matter-of-factly, interlocking his fingers with Ian's and giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Let's get he fuck outta here, alright?"

Ian nodded and allowed Mickey to lead him out of the gallery and into the lively June night. The streets were bustling with girls in summer dresses and guys in their hot weather best; the smell of ice cream, beer, strawberries, and car exhaust filling the city air. 

Though the darkness that had settled over him in Aperture refused to completely subside, Ian felt his mood markedly lighten when Mickey shoved him against a storefront and pressed wine tinged lips against his. As his husband's hands cupped his cheeks, Ian's anxious thoughts waned and memories of stolen moments on Rue de Rosiers flashed through his mind. Only Mickey's touch could transport him; his kisses sending him into flight.

"What d'you want?" Mickey whispered, rubbing his nose against Ian's and ghosting his lips over his mouth. 

The redhead inhaled his husband's breath before nuzzling into the crook of his neck to take in his scent. It was heady and sweet, intoxicating him upon contact, flooding him with feelings of safety and love. 

"You," Ian replied softly, his voice muffled by skin, his tone steeped in sincerity. 

"No," he chuckled, using his fingertips to tilt Ian's chin up so he could look into his dilated pupils. "You were sad back there, looked really fucking sad. Tell me what you want." 

"I don't know..." Ian began, his cheeks pink as his husband held them. 

"Yes you do," he stated, backing away so he could reach into his pocket for his cigarettes. Still keeping an eye on his panting husband, he lit it up and blew a plume of smoke into the starry sky, watching as it snaked and twisted around the sparkling orbs. "Don't gotta be shy around me, Gallagher. I want what you want, alright? What d'you want?" he repeated, licking his lips and lifting his eyebrows in challenge. 

"That," he said, nearly inaudibly. "Fine Art, gallery showings... I want that."

Mickey nodded, passing the cigarette to Ian, who immediately took a shaky drag. "Thought so. What do you need to do to get it?" 

"I'm not sure," he admitted, smiling into the kiss when Mickey looped an arm around his waist and pulled him in tight, "just feels complicated."

"How 'bout pancakes?" Mickey suggested, as Ian nibbled salaciously on his bottom lip, "they're not complicated."

"You always order banana and I get chocolate chip," he tsked with a smirk, "then you eat most of mine and I'm stuck with the shitty banana ones soaked in too much goddam syrup." He laughed when Mickey tickled his side. "So they're complicated, too."

"Let me simplify your life, Firecrotch," Mickey said, intertwining their fingers so he could pull Ian down the block. "I order chocolate chip and you get banana and I'll probably still end up eating yours."

"What's that all about?" Ian chuckled, grabbing the cigarette from Mickey's hand so he could take a drag. 

"Like to eat what you got," Mickey flirted, licking his lips wantonly, "tastes better."

"You wanna skip the diner and go home instead," Ian questioned, feeling his dick grow hard at the thought of Mickey eating his ass. As a top, he'd never thought there was much of a purpose to get eaten out until Mickey started rimming him. His husband's puffy lips and talented tongue convinced him that there was more to ass eating than getting opened up, "I'll give you something else to eat." 

"Made you a fucking slut, Gallagher," Mickey chided playfully, "always begging for it."

"Turn me out," Ian hummed, craning his neck to sneak a kiss.

"I will, baby, after I eat some fucking pancakes," Mickey assured him, laughing at the pout he got in return. "I'll eat that ass all night, okay? Just gotta fuel the fuck up."

"For a marathon ass eating session?" Ian teased, every synapse in his groin firing. 

Mickey licked his lips and nodded, giving his husband's ass a hard smack. 

"I'm gonna shove those pancakes down your throat," Ian warned.

"Yeah well, I'm gonna be shoving something else down your throat soon. Gonna make you my bitch tonight."

"I'll be that," Ian promised, "I'm fucking ready." He groaned when Mickey reached over to cup his bulge and grinned. 

"Feels like it."

"Let's go back, Mick. I'm horny as hell."

"Gonna make you wait. Gonna eat my pancakes and make you wait."

Ian sighed, knowing that Mickey was getting off on torturing him, happy to watch him beg. He followed his husband into the diner and dutifully took his seat in the booth across from him. 

Ian never tasted a pancake he didn't like, until he ate pancakes across from Mickey with a dick harder than geometry. His husband always had him anticipating the next moment, lost in the present while looking forward to the future.

"I love you," Ian said as Mickey wiped syrup off his lips.

"Love you, too," he assured him, shoving another bite of pancake into his mouth, "more than pancakes and that's a hell of a lot."

"I love you more than Fine Art photography," Ian grinned, freckled face flushing.

"Norman's or your future shit?" Mickey attempted to clarify, a smirk plastered on his face, "cause that makes a fucking difference."

"All of it," he promised, embracing his ambition and feeling freer than he ever had. "Everything."

Mickey smiled knowingly and went back to his food, well aware that Ian's eyes were focused on him for the rest of the meal.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger: Anxiety, talk of death, accidents

Ian naively thought that Mickey's second trip to Los Angeles would've been easier on them. After all, they'd made it through the first time, when the whole concept of being apart was new and seemed excessively difficult. As much as the distance had sucked, Mickey'd managed to make sure he gave him as much attention as he could and the naturally needy redhead was grateful for his efforts. Ian actually felt that their relationship had grown even stronger after feeling the pain of missing each other. The three days Mickey spent in NYC before taking off again had been amazing; full of deep conversations, lingering kisses and copious amounts of sex. By the day of Mickey's departure, their lips were swollen and their bodies ached in the most delicious ways. 

At work, Ian had done better than he had earlier that week focusing on the task at hand. He found that really throwing himself into the jobs made the time pass more quickly. To Ian, every moment that ticked away was another one closer to seeing Mickey again. He wondered if it would always be this way; if he'd always crave his husband so voraciously. It was hard to imagine a time when being away from him wouldn't feel like torture. 

It was the dark thoughts that made Mickey's travel more challenging. Ian had always dealt with anxiety, but the spiraling of negative thoughts usually had to do with him and not another person. Now, he found himself constantly thinking of the worst possible scenarios like plane crashes, terrorist attacks and drive-by shootings; anything that could rip the love of his life away from him. He knew it wasn't healthy, but he didn't know how to move on from it. The horrific fears would then lead to reflections on mortality, and how he hoped he'd die before his husband so he wouldn't have to live a day without him. 

All the negativity would melt away as soon as he received a call or text from his man. He'd be floating on cloud nine during the correspondence and then slowly fall back to Earth once they'd said 'goodbye'; sinking eventually into oceans of pity for himself and the situation. When he really began to wallow, he forced himself to get some goddamn perspective and think outside of his bubble about people who had lost spouses or were pulled apart for months and years at a time for military service. As soon as he recognized their sacrifices, he felt like a whiny bitch and admonished himself for being so weak. It was vicious cycle that he was eager to break before it broke him. 

He was glad that his Saturday evening was going relatively well and he hadn't been visited by morbid thoughts. He'd just finished shooting in a sweltering warehouse and felt that he'd gotten some really gorgeous shots. The model was good, but he wasn't close to Mickey's level of perfection. Ian found himself daydreaming about how his husband would look in each of the frames and loved every single one of the images he conjured up in his mind. When he arrived home, he was surprised to find some actual hard copy images in his mailbox in the form of photos from Raphaël of Mickey's The Kooples photoshoot.

"Holy shit," Ian muttered simultaneously grinning and cringing at the photographs in his hands. He'd never felt more exposed, and yet, he'd never given less of a shit about that exposure. The pictures were beautiful, each one of them; every tuck of the head, nuzzle of the nose and drag of the lips radiated their love for each other. As soon as Ian laid eyes on them, he was brought back to the moment, able to feel Mickey's ass in his hands, his breath on his cheek. There wasn't a picture that showed their full faces, only profile shots that made it clear they were more into each other than the camera. Though he was used to being behind the view finder, Ian couldn't help but feel proud of what he and Mickey had been able to create in front of it. Of course, in his opinion, the success of the pictures was mostly due to his husband's influence, but he couldn't deny that the tension in his own hands and reach of his arms, added something to the photos.

Deciding Mickey needed to see the picture, stat, Ian dialed him on FaceTime. Though Ian was quite aware his husband was done with shooting for the day, it still took him five rings to pick up.

"Hey," Ian said, smiling into the camera as soon as he saw his husband's face. Mickey was wearing a baby v-neck and a Mets hat, his casual style doing shit to Ian that he thought wasn't even near fair, "fuck you look hot, Mick." 

"Hey baby," Mickey crooned, studying Ian's face through the lens, "you doing alright?"

"Yeah," he assured him, aware that his husband was worried about his mental state based on what had happened the day before. He didn't usually cry, but he fucking cried, and it was absolutely mortifying. "Got something interesting to show you."

"Is it your dick?" Mickey questioned, glancing over his shoulder awkwardly, "You know I'd love to see that, man, but I'm in line for a club right now. Don't want anyone seeing what's mine."

Ian nodded his understanding, feeling moderately hurt even though he hadn't intended to whip out his cock. He turned the camera forward facing so he could scan over the pictures and smiled when he heard his husband's reverence.

"They're good right, Ian? Think they look real goddamn good," he mused, eyes focusing on the details as Ian moved the phone to present them to him, "d'you like them?"

"I love them," the photographer admitted, still showing the details to his husband, "he wrote in the note that he also sent me digital copies and he expects us to blow them up in our bedroom."

"I'd like to fucking blow you in our bedroom," Mickey said with a sigh, "fucking miss you."

"I miss you, too," he confessed, feeling warmth flood his body as he stared across the screen at his husband. "We should do it..." he began, smiling at the perplexed look Mickey was giving him, "blow up a few of the pictures."

"Whatever you want," Mickey said easily, licking his lips before returning Ian's grin, "love to see you in a good mood."

"It's not that I'm, y'know, sad or wherever, it's just that I needed to put everything in perspective," Ian stated, defending himself, though there was no need for protection.

Mickey nodded, "Just hate to see you that way... the way you were yesterday." Ian felt his cheeks grow hot, "don't wanna be the reason you're feeling shitty."

"Of course you're not," he assured him, pushing his red hair back and pursing his lips, "I just have to get used to shit."

"Hate that it's hard for you. I mean, it's hard for me too, but it's my fault."

"How could it be? You're working, Mick. It's not your fault that you're working. I just have to learn to fucking deal with it."

They stared at each other through the screen, both feeling they had a million words to share even though they'd purposely swallowed them one by one. 

"Where are you?" Ian asked softly, as he climbed into their bed and leaned back against the wall, holding his phone out in front of him. He could tell Mickey was walking but he couldn't see much more than his gorgeous face and darkness behind him. 

"We're about to go into a speakeasy."

"Those still exist?"

"I guess so," Mickey replied with an eye roll, "it ain't really my scene but the guys are into it."

"The guys are into it," Ian repeated with a nod. He felt the phrase boil his blood even though he'd tried to lessen the heat. He hated that Mickey had 'guys' and that he went along with doing what those 'guys' wanted to do. He knew it was irrational. He'd had those friends long before he'd had him, but he couldn't help the way he felt.

"Don't..." Mickey sighed with a shake of his head, "you know I'd rather be home with you," he assumed him, making Ian feel even worse about his newfound codependency. He wished he could just be supportive and tell him to have fun, but somehow his mind wouldn't allow it. 

Ian nodded his understanding, biting his bottom lip as he looked across the screen at Mickey with unintentional puppy eyes. 

"All I fucking think about," Mickey promised, "just you." 

Before Ian could reply, he saw the familiar face of an Italian man creep into the frame next to Mickey. From his extensive Instagram stalking, Ian was well aware that it was Alonzo, the guy his husband used to friendly bang.

"Hello," Alonzo greeted, "how is it you're going tonight?" He asked, his English as broken as Ian wished his face was.

"Good," Ian replied, his eyes focused only on Mickey as if the other man didn't exist. In all fairness, his husband was treating the intruder in the same way. 

"We are about to make the enter into the club so we must tell you that goodbye," he said with a grin, nodding his head as if he was checking for Ian's understanding, but Ian didn't understand at all. He couldn't comprehend why the motherfucker had invited himself into the conversation and why his husband hadn't told him to fuck off. He was about to open his mouth to tell Alonzo to do just that, when the other man spoke instead, "we say bye bye then."

Before Ian could truly discern what had happened, the call ended leaving the redhead reeling in its wake. 

With shaky hands, he opened up his latest text message with Mickey.

Ian (8:46pm): WTF was that 

Mickey (8:50pm): stupid shit. They're all waiting for me. Gotta turn in my cell. Guess shit is super secret."

Ian felt his heart begin to pound, the beat making its way to his stomach, causing it to churn. 

Mickey (8:52pm): Will Text U when I'm out. 

Ian (8:52pm): ILY

He noticed the message shifted to read, but no matter how long he stared down at his phone, he wasn't able to compel a response. 

The dark thoughts flooded back as he stared at the screen in front of him, thinking of how his husband was with a former fuck buddy, at a speakeasy, content to leave him on read.

Impulsively, he chucked his phone across the room, and tried to do the same for the pictures, aggravated when they didn't have the weight to get chucked. They laid at his feet as he stared up at ceiling of the apartment that moments ago had felt like his. Now he wasn't sure what to feel, rendering himself numb.


	17. Chapter 17

Ian spent an embarrassing amount of time staring at the ignored message, hoping to see three little dots that indicated his husband was typing something back. After an hour, he gave up hope and pulled himself out of bed, only to pace the floor, his anxiety building with each step. He had no reason to believe that Mickey would be unfaithful to him, but he couldn't help but wonder if maybe his husband felt like he was in over his head. He hadn't hid shit from Mickey. He'd told him early on that he could be a lot to handle, even though he wished he wasn't. Though he'd struggled through Mickey's trips, he'd done his best not to be too down, not wanting his husband to feel trapped by his big emotions. It was impossible to hold them all back, but he didn't want to drown him in a deluge of feelings every time they spoke, knowing that would be exhausting for both of them. As controlled as he tried to remain, there were still moments of weakness, but none as profound as the hours that followed after Alonzo hung up the FaceTime and Mickey left him on read.

His husband had told him that they didn't allow phones, so Ian knew there was no way to get a hold of him. He thought about texting him all of his feelings as soon as he felt them, but he didn't want to damper Mickey's night when he left the speakeasy. Instead, he decided to drink enough beer to ease his mind and lull him to sleep. Four bottles later, he was dead asleep with all his clothes still on, drool saturating his husband's pillow.

The chime of a Google alert awakened him from his stupor sometime after 6:00am. He was incredibly groggy when he picked up his phone to find a slew of text messages and missed calls from his husband. 

Mickey (4:23am): ILY 2

Mickey (4:45am): ur prob sleeping huh? Almost 5 there

Mickey (4:50am): I'm not sleeping cuz I fucked up real bad baby UR gonna kill me

Ian's heart sunk to his churning stomach, the fear beating it with every sick rotation. With trembling fingers he toggled to Google, bile crawling up his throat the sight of the headline. 

 

**Caught! Model Mickey Milkovich's Wild Night Out in LA Sans Wedding Ring ******

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_June 29, 2018_

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_Who said true love is dead, other than every millennial who's attempted online dating in the last decade? After a whirlwind romance, highly sought after model Mickey Milkovich married photographer Ian Gallagher, late last month in Paris. The two dated for just weeks before tying the knot, making their union the subject of both awe and skepticism. Romantics be warned, the next portion of this article is going to pummel your belief in love at first sight. ___

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_Just a month after their storybook nuptials, the model was caught exiting a popular speakeasy, Hush, with a group of sexy male friends. Notably absent from the Hot Boys' Night out was Milkovich's ring and husband. ___

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_Is there trouble in paradise already? We hate to say, there seems to be. Check out the photos below and judge for yourself._

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Ian did just that, studying each of the photos like they were the cheat sheet to the most important test of his life. There was no denying that Mickey wasn't wearing his ring. His left hand was suspiciously lacking the most meaningful hardware. As if that wasn't awful enough, he looked happy as hell; head thrown back, mouth wide with laughter as he enjoyed the evening. 

It was hard for Ian to ignore the Italian thorn in his side, especially when he was standing too close to Mickey for comfort. He was looking at Ian's husband like he was a fucking snack, waiting to be consumed. Ian wished he could've seen past the way Alonzo was gazing at Mickey; that he was unaware of the physical connection they'd shared prior to their marriage. He couldn't handle the way his wild imagination flooded him with scenarios of the two of them together. The images of them fucking made him feel even more physically ill than he had moments before when he saw the headline.  
Mickey had admitted he'd fucked up, and Ian knew the type of mistake he was alluding to. He wished it had been a nightmare, but he was painfully aware that he was awake, and it was all very real. 

It had all been too good to be true. They'd been infatuated, obsessed, but the novelty of it all was bound to wane someday; Ian just hadn't expected it would be so soon. He wished they could go backwards, that each moment they'd spent falling in love could be stretched indefinitely and wrapped around them like ties that bind. Everything had been simpler then, even though most of their conversations had held enough weight to have Ian feel like he'd been sinking. Regardless of how engulfing the emotions had been, Mickey'd made him feel safe; a life vest to hold him up against the turbulent waters of his past. Now, he felt like was surrendering to the undertow; allowing it to pull him down past the submerged grave of reason. 

By the time sun rays were streaming past the blinds of their bedroom, Ian was really fucking gone. Any iota of understanding he'd been able to muster hours before, had left him, leaving him feeling empty and lost. He'd worried from the start that he wasn't enough for him, and maybe it was time to come to terms with the fact that he wasn't. Maybe they'd fooled himself into thinking what they had could last. They were impulsive, irresponsible and horny; a potent combination that seemed to put them on the fast track for eventual wreckage. 

Bleary eyed, he sat up in the bed strewn with beer bottles and Raphaël's photographs; relics of the beginning and the end. Wobbly legs carried him to the bathroom where he purged the beer and sadness. With his head in the toilet, and his heart in a vice, he wished him away. The saying it was 'better to love and lose than to never love at all,' was complete bullshit. He didn't want the pain; an excruciating ripping and tearing of his most vital organ. If he could, he would expunge Mickey from his memory, as even the thought of him was too much to bear. 

He wasn't sure how long he was on the floor, or how he managed to get back into bed, but when he took his place among the evidence of destruction he found countless missed calls and text messages from Mickey. He knew his husband had an early flight back to NYC that morning, but he was up earlier than expected. 

Mickey (8:27am): answer UR phone

Mickey (8:27am): We need 2 talk

Mickey (8:32am): answer UR phone baby 

Mickey (8:33am): don’t wanna text wanna talk 2 U

Mickey (8:36am): Fuck

Mickey (8:40am): man come on

Mickey (8:43am): Had 2 take my ring off for shoot yesterday

Mickey (8:44am): realized I left it there after the studio closed 4 the night

Mickey (8:54am): I know UR up, answer the fucking phone

Mickey (8:57am): It’s only 6 here so nobody’s there yet & my flight out is at 7

Mickey (9:00am): Almost at the airport Dunno WTF to do

Mickey (9:05am): I C Ur reading my messages

Mickey (9:07am): Should I get a later flight? Or C if they’ll mail it to me or some shit?

Mickey (9:12am): Really Ian? 

Mickey (9:15am): ANSWER UR PHONE STOP IGNORING MY CALLS

Mickey (9:26am): This about that fucking BS article?

Mickey (9:28am): U know how they twist shit

Mickey (9:30am): Fuck

Mickey (9:34am): Would never fucking hurt U

Mickey (9:36am): Ian I love U

Mickey (9:37am): Nothing happened

Mickey (9:38am): Baby I’m boarding. Answer UR phone

Mickey (9:45am): I’m fucking losing it

Ian stared down at the phone lying in his sweaty palm, trying to decide what to do. He desperately wanted to believe that his husband was telling the truth, that he’d truly left his ring behind after he’d had to remove it for the shoot. It was likely that his client wouldn’t want him wearing it, but Ian couldn’t understand why Mickey hadn’t told him earlier, or texted him when he realized. Why had he waited until he knew he’d been caught by the paparazzi to share that information with him?

He twisted the ring that hadn’t left his finger since their declarations of love in front of Le mur des je t'aime, and felt a tear roll down his cheek at the thought of his husband’s being discarded and forgotten. Though they hadn’t remembered to come prepared with rings for the actual ceremony, the decision to go out and get them afterwards had been a big one and meaningful to them both. Little bands of metal had solidified their union and gave tangibility to their fantasy. 

He knew shit happened, that things got lost, stolen, broken, but when reason and acceptance began to creep into his mind, memories of the happiness on Mickey’s face while standing next to Alonzo in the paparazzi pictures angrily pushed them away. He wondered if it would’ve been different for him if Mickey had been photographed with anyone other than his ex-fuckbuddy; if he would’ve still thought the worst of the situation, or if he’d be able to muster empathy for the stress his husband seemed to be under thanks to his inability to get his ring back before boarding the plane. He closed his eyes as his phone continued to buzz, indicating that Mickey was calling yet again. Every ounce of his energy had seeped out with his tears and his brain was too fuzzy to choose words. He wanted to yell at him, cry to him, make him understand how hard it all was hitting him, but instead he kept his mouth and eyelids shut. 

Mickey (9:50am): Wanna hear UR voice b4 the plane takes off

Mickey (9:52am): Answer the phone & tell me to go fuck myself

Mickey (9:53am): Don’t give a shit what U say just wanna hear U

Mickey (9:54am): UR not gonna fucking answer

Mickey (9:56am): I’ll C U in a few hours

Mickey (9:58am): We’re taking off I love U


	18. Chapter 18

Ian barely heard the door to the apartment open hours later, but he most definitely heard it slam shut. He sat up in bed, rubbing his forehead in an attempt to assuage the raging headache he had from all the crying, the beer, the stress, the sleep, the sadness. "Fuck," he muttered, unsure of what to say to his husband, even though he was well aware Mickey was going to expect him to speak. 

He didn't know how to feel. It wasn't that Mickey's excuse of leaving his ring at the studio was unbelievable, it was in fact, very likely to be the case. It was the paparazzi pictures of his man walking next to Alonzo, the motherfucker who had stepped over the line and hung up their FaceTime, that pushed him over the edge. It didn't help that the evidence of their union was missing, making the whole situation feel more suspect. If Mickey would have FaceTimed him back to say 'goodnight' without being rushed off the call or returned his 'I love you' text, Ian probably wouldn't be as devastated as he was, but all of the shitty circumstances had piled up and left him fearing that they were broken, feeling broken himself. 

A fresh batch of tears began to stream down his cheeks as soon as Mickey entered the room. His husband looked tired, with sullen eyes and sallow skin. "I fucking love you, Ian," he said softly, his voice mirroring the defeat in his demeanor, "didn't mean to hurt you." He dropped his bag to the ground and crawled onto the bed, sighing when Ian instinctively turned away, wet eyes focused on the blank wall beside the bed. 

Resting tattooed digits on his husband's cheek, Mickey guided Ian's face to him so he could look in his eyes. He gnawed on his bottom lip when the redhead reached up and brushed his fingers across the smooth skin where Mickey's ring should have been. 

"I called them as soon as I landed. They're overnighting it. Should be here tomorrow," Mickey informed him, observing Ian as he stared down at the cream comforter. Slowly, he collected the beer bottles that were still lying on the bed and placed them on the nightstand before gathering up the photographs Raphaël had sent in a small pile, so he could place them safely into the drawer. 

Curious about the movement beside him, Ian watched as Mickey folded up his abandoned laptop and placed it gingerly onto the floor. "Did you fuck him?" Ian asked, barely able to recognize his own voice beneath the hoarseness. 

"Fuck," Mickey sighed, swinging around to gaze into his husband's distraught eyes, "no, I didn't fuck him. I'd never do that to you... I'd never want to..." he let out an exasperated exhale, "fuck anyone else, be with anyone else. You're it for me, man. Just you."

"Why did you let him hang up on me like that? Why didn't you tell him to fuck off and call me back. I should've..." he felt a familiar burning in his cheeks, "I should've come first. Me, not him. I'm your husband, I should've come first."

Mickey bit his lip and nodded, "You're right. I fucked up. I don't think shit about Alonzo, he's nothing to me," he paused, noticing the relief beginning to creep across Ian's face, "so I forgot he's something to you, cause of what you know about what we used to do. I should've realized it would've gotten to you. I'm still... we're still new at this."

"You didn't respond to my text, after that, I wrote that I loved you and you read it but you didn't respond," Ian whispered, his breath stuttering as Mickey moved closer to him, wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing his full lips against his collarbone. 

"Goddamn, I missed you," he admitted softly, distracted by the taste of Ian's skin and the warmth of his body. "Saw it just as I was giving my cell phone up. The place was packed, I handed it over and went in. I thought you knew..."

"That the place was packed?" Ian questioned, confused by the assertion.

"That I love you," he corrected, panting quietly as the hand that Ian had resting on his cheek slid down his chest, "thought I showed it to you enough to make you feel it." He closed his eyes as his husband's hands tucked under his shirt and rested just below the waistband his jeans. 

"Make me feel it," Ian urged, gasping into Mickey's mouth as he crashed their lips together; eager tongues tangled ardently as they became reacquainted after too much time feeling too far apart.

"I'm sorry, baby," the brunet promised, kissing Ian down to the bed while fervently undressing both of them. "Never gonna make you wonder like that again."

Ian closed his eyes as he sunk deeper into the pillow from the vehemence of Mickey's kisses. The near constant connection had his head spinning from need and lack of oxygen. He'd never felt more high than he did when his body was possessed by Mickey. His husband captivated every one of his senses until he felt that he no longer inhabited his own form, fully lost in his lover's instead. 

He bit his lip as Mickey's mouth moved hungrily down his body, paying close attention to every freckle along the way. He blew him like he was begging for forgiveness; every lap of his tongue an apology, every draw down his throat reassurance. 

Ian felt his whole body quivering as his husband's talented mouth sucked him in hard and licked him out slow. Raking his fingertips through black hair, Ian watched as his husband worked his dick, blue eyes focused into green as he did so, their connection electric. 

"Missed your fucking taste," Mickey mumbled with his mouth full of cock, "so lucky I get to taste you," he practically groaned, "feel so lucky." 

Ian had never had his dick sucked with such enthusiasm. Mickey was pulling him in like his cum was water and he was dying of thirst. The redhead felt his legs shake as his husband kept working for it. Though he was trying to give up control to his man, he gave in to his natural urge to be on top. 

"Lay back," he demanded, shifting positions so he was on top of Mickey, who was now resting his head against his headboard, "gonna fuck that hot little mouth. Remind you what it feels to have my cock choking you out," he grunted, standing up in front of husband and spreading his hands over the cradle of his skull so he could shove his big dick into his Mickey's waiting mouth.

He fucked his face hard, heavy balls slapping rhythmically against Mickey's chin until the pale skin was left angry and red. Tilting his head to assess the damage, he smiled at the mixture of precum and saliva pouring from Mickey's mouth. 

"Gonna fuck you somewhere they can see it," Ian informed him, groaning when Mickey desperately grabbed onto his ass cheeks and pulled him in even further. He leaned back and thrust his hips up so the tip of his dick was pulsing against the roof of Mickey's mouth. "You're gonna go out there tomorrow with your ring on your fucking finger and your lips busted and puffy from all the dick you're gonna suck tonight."

"Mmm," Mickey moaned, tilting his head down slightly so Ian's hard leaking cock was lying heavy on his tongue. 

Every time the redhead drew back in preparation of shoving in again, his husband dug his fingernails into his flesh and demanded more; wanting to please him and he pleased himself. 

"You gonna take it all for me? Swallow every drop?" Ian asked, his voice breaking as he felt his release swell and build.

Mickey took him in deep and nodded the affirmative; the gesture forcing him to fight his gag reflex as Ian's cock jumped against the back of his throat. 

"This is just round one, Mick. Gonna fucking fill you up all night... you ready for your first taste?" He felt sweat dripping down his brow as he looked past his defined ab muscles at his husband's eyes pleading with him, wanting it as bad as he wanted to give it. "Here you go, baby," he cried, his hips twitching and jerking as he shot his load into Mickey's needy mouth, "Mmm take it for me."

The brunet gladly did as he was told, satisfied by the way Ian's girth stretched his lips as his long smooth dick pulsed and spasmed against his tongue. Breathless, Ian's body crumpled, his forehead resting on the headboard and his still hard cock falling from Mickey's mouth to jam against his throat.

"Fucking missed this," Mickey stated, wrapping his fingers around the base of his lover's cock, "fucking missed you."

"I missed you too," Ian promised, falling to the bed beside his husband and grinning when Mickey reached over to interlock their fingers, "too much." 

"Know you were upset, but you should've answered my calls before my plane took off today," Mickey stated, rubbing Ian's back as his husband snuggled into him, nose buried deep in the crook of his neck, "that shit fucked me up."

"I'm sorry." Ian's voice was muffled by Mickey's skin but the sentiment was loud and clear. "I need to say shit that's on my mind and not just shut you out."

"Got our whole lives to work on it, right?" Mickey mused, relishing in the feel of the sweet smooches Ian was pressing against the nape of his neck, "always gonna be some stupid shit." 

Ian nodded his head and tilted his chin up to ask for a kiss that Mickey was glad to give. Their mouths melted together with promises to do better as their bodies molded to one another, filling in every crook and crevice. "I love you," he admitted, the words tumbling easily from his tongue as he nibbled on his husband's sore lower lip.

"I love you, too," Mickey promised, nudging his nose against Ian's before catching his lips once again. 

"I feel it," he assured him as they tumbled around the bed, "I do."


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Lydia:-*

As far away as Ian had felt from his husband, both in a metaphorical and physical sense, during his trip to Los Angeles, was as close as he felt during their time reconnecting. He'd turned himself inside out, sharing the thoughts that had caused him to spiral headfirst into the reaction he'd had, and he'd turned Mickey inside out, intent on getting as deep into him as he'd delved into his emotions. In the past, he would have felt too exposed to discuss his most intimate fears wrapped naked around another person, but with his husband it brought him comfort to have the warmth of his skin pressed again him; the weight of his body anchoring him down. Basking in the in afterglow of release after release, he let go of his anxiety, while cloaking himself in reason, and Mickey.

Doubt was a poison that had sought to corrode his mind and wash away all that he and his husband had built. Though they'd only been together a short time, their foundation was sturdy; painstakingly constructed to support walls that shifted and swayed in unexpected winds. He didn't want to be pressured or moved by bursts of inclement weather, he wanted to be solid, because that's what they both deserved. 

"Maybe I have 'daddy issues,'" Ian said, turning his head a bit so he could see his husband's face as they laid intertwined on their bed; heads sharing the pillow, hearts beating at the same pace, "probably 'mommy issues' too. Always think people will leave; the more I love them, the more likely they'll be to go."

"Not me, ain't gonna go nowhere," Mickey assured him, picking a stray string out of red locks. 

"But I love you the most," he confessed, his cheeks blushing pale pink as his husband grinned at the admission, "so it feels like you will."

"I can show you I'm in this and tell you that shit too, but you won't believe it until I prove it, right?"

Ian shrugged, "Can't always be like that. Can't just be waiting for you to leave."

"So don't," Mickey suggested simply, pressing a kiss against Ian's lips.

"I don't know how to stop..." His voice was timid, reflecting how difficult it had been to make the statement. "I want to but I don't know how." 

It was clear to him what he needed to do, though he'd spent his whole life avoiding that very thing. Gallaghers didn't do therapy, but they also didn't have meaningful, long lasting relationships. He wondered if there was a correlation there, and thought that perhaps he should be the one to find out. 

"You ever been to therapy?" he asked Mickey, as he ran his finger over the brushed gunmetal ring that had made its way back to where it belonged. 

"Only state sanctioned shit during a few of my stints in juvie," Mickey answered, crinkling up his nose at the memory, "fucking hated it."

Ian nodded, thinking it was probably a stupid idea anyway. 

Noticing his husband's affect, Mickey rested his hand on a freckled cheek and gave it a gentle pat, "I bet it can help with shit if you want it to help with shit. I was young and thought I knew everything back then..."

"And how's that different from now?" Ian teased, yelping when Mickey reached around to give him a hard smack on his bare ass, "Ow!"

"Oh man, you can only give ass beatings, huh Gallagher? Can't take 'em?" He lifted his eyebrows and laughed when Ian wrapped his arms tightly around his waist and buried his face into the crook of his neck. "You should do it," he said, rubbing his husband's back soothingly, "hate how hard this shit is for you. Don't want you to go through it every time I gotta fuck off some place for work," he paused, "I'm not... I mean, I'd never fucking try to force you into some shit like this, and I know that I fucked up this time and made it suck worse, but I hate how hard it is for you and I don't know how to make it better..." he sighed, "think I hate that the most."

"It can't hurt to go, right?" Ian reasoned, raising up to his elbows so he could look into Mickey's pale blue eyes for reassurance, "if it could help a little bit or whatever."

Mickey nodded and pressed his lips against Ian's forehead before giving him indication that he needed to get up. "We gotta go or we're gonna be real late." 

"Sure Rick wouldn't be too thrilled about that," Ian agreed climbing out of the bed and reaching for Mickey's hand to tug him out, too. 

"Asshole thinks our story's gonna sell more of his ugly ass shoes. Don't see the fucking correlation, but he's pretty goddamn happy about it so maybe he'll have us do his spring campaign, too."

"Wouldn't be a bad thing."

"Not at all."

Their shared shower took longer than expected, with water streaming over bodies that were adhered to one another and dripping past lips slightly parted in pleasure. By the time they arrived at the Rick Owens' Flagship opening, they were thoroughly fucked out and the multi-level store was packed with a who's who of industry leaders. 

"I tell you how goddamn hot you look yet, Gallagher?" Mickey questioned, licking his lips as he looked over his husband in his slim fit, custom getup that the Kooples had sent over as a 'thank you' for his participation in the photoshoot a few weeks earlier. He grinned and kissed Ian tenderly as the redhead's face turned a deeper shade of crimson than the just-loud-enough suit he was wearing. 

"A few times..."

"That all? I'm slacking."

Ian laughed and glanced around the crowded room, his eyes immediately honing in on the huge photograph of his man's ass that was hanging on the featured two story wall, flanked by twin staircases that lead up to the upper level. "Definitely my best work," he mused, giving Mickey a discrete pat on his butt, "that ass though..."

The model rolled his eyes, but the grin on his lips showed that he appreciates his husband's attention. 

"If it isn't the men of the hour!" Gregor -one of Mickey's agents- exclaimed, hurrying over to greet the couple. "How's married life treating you?"

"Great," they both said with matching smiles, looking at each other before regarding the older man again. 

"Good to hear. Ian, Mickey, this is Dayanara Ruiz and Stacy Poser from Rick Owens' merchandising. Daya, Stacy, this is your featured model Mickey Milkovich and his husband Ian Gallagher, who shot the campaign."

"Barely recognized you!" Dayanara teased with a wink as she shook Mickey's hand. He bit his lip and nodded politely, having learned the appropriate times to keep his mouth shut.

"Mickey and Ian met when they were shooting the campaign," Gregor explained with a beaming smile, "How cute is that?"

"Adorable!" Stacy agreed, "quite the power couple." She laughed when she saw Ian blush in response, "and modest, too."

"Well, at least one of them is modest," Gregor joked, clapping Mickey's back companionably, "We have to get you guys on to the step and repeat, alright? Then you can continue making all the ladies and gentlemen swoon."

"Can't wait," Mickey said wryly, only able to take so much before his attitude began to creep out. 

When they made their way over to the backdrop, Ian attempted to hang back, but was surprised when his husband grabbed his hand and pulled him in front of the flashing cameras. 

"I don't do this shit," Ian whispered, feeling insanely uncomfortable. 

"This night is as much about you as it is about me, if not more. Why the fuck wouldn't you be in the pictures?" he scoffed, looping an arm around Ian's narrow waist protectively as they looked into the cameras.

"Can we get a kiss?" a photographer called, prompting all the rest to make the same request.

"Probably could've if you didn't ask," Mickey replied with a smirk, laughing when they all jeered in response. 

"One kiss. C'mon!" he urged grinning at Ian and Mickey, who were looking at each other to gauge comfort levels. 

Giving his husband's side a tickle, Mickey whispered, "C'mere," smiling into the kiss that Ian brazenly pressed against his lips. Regardless of how uncomfortable the photographer was in front of the camera, he'd never turn down an opportunity lay one on Mickey. The kiss was chaste by their standards, neither man willing to give the photographers what they preferred to keep between them. 

"Alright, I'm done," Ian said, giving Mickey one last peck before stepping off the carpet. The photogs eagerly snapped pictures of the solo model as the redhead looked on. He wasn't sure he'd ever get over how handsome his husband was, and how easily he stood out among the crowd. It wasn't just his perfect features that garnered attention, but the way he carried himself. Ian felt his mouth water as he watched him gaze at the camera in his all black suit, occasionally glancing over to him to show him where his mind was. 

"So are the stories I heard true?" a voice asked, causing Ian to turn around and see a smartly dressed older woman standing behind him. 

"Depends on what stories they are," he said politely, tucking his hands into his pockets. 

"You took some photos of that young man and promptly fell in love?" 

"Mmmhmm," he nodded. 

"Whirlwind wedding in Paris?"

"That, too," he informed her. He wasn't sure who she was or why she was regarding him with tears in her eyes. 

"It was London for me and my Samuel," she began, a nostalgic smile on her face, "one week, that's all it took for us to know that it was forever."

Ian pursed his lips, unsure of how to respond. The woman was lost in thoughts for a moment, while he formulated his question in a way he hoped wouldn't offend her, "and has it been?" 

"It was... until time proved to us that no matter how much you want forever, it's not for mortals."

Ian nodded his understanding. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"It's been years," she said easily, "but I never once regretted our impetuosity. We allowed ourselves to be madly in love from the start, no wasted time, no games. Can I overstep my bounds?" she asked tentatively, "more than I already have?"

"Oh, of course," Ian assured her, feeling the words she'd shared intensely, "You're fine. I mean, I'd like to hear."

"Just breathe," she said with a weak smile, "when you sprint at the beginning, it's easy to forget to catch your breath. When you do, everything calms, from your thoughts to your body, everything. Just breathe."

"Just breathe," he repeated with a nod. 

"All the best to you."

"You, too," Ian replied, watching her join a group of women a few feet away. Several sets of curious eyes peeked at him as he glanced away to focus on his husband, who was finally done with his photos. As the brunet approached and wrapped his arms around him in the most beautifully overwhelming way, Ian felt the air escape from his lungs just the way it always did when Mickey took his breath away. Consciously, he inhaled deeply and flooded his body with oxygen, reminding himself not to forget to breathe.


	20. Epilogue

_18 months later ___

____

____

It was apropos that Ian's first exhibition was two years to the day since he'd married Mickey; one leap of faith tumbling into the next, but his husband had never let him fall. He often wondered what his life would have been like if he'd never met Mickey, what would have been left of his soul if it hadn't found its mate. It was easy to focus on the surface differences a life without him would have entailed, to consider the tepid sex life, and the lack of a meaningful connection. But finding Mickey had been more poignant than that. When he found his husband, he'd discovered himself. It wasn't that Mickey had changed him, instead he'd changed the trajectory of his journey, challenging him to be more than he'd ever expected to be. 

It was cliche to say that one's partner made them better, so Ian thought of the ways his husband made him worse. With Mickey, He was more insatiable than he'd ever been, constantly hungry for the other man's body, never feeling that enough was enough. He was impatient, wishing away the days they were apart, and greedily hogging every minute they were together. And more than anything, he was soft, allowing himself to drop his guard, knowing that Mickey would never hurt him. 

"You ready?" his husband asked, resting his hand reassuringly on Ian's thigh as their uber pulled up to the curb outside the Aperture Gallery. "You're ready," he rephrased, knowing that he needed to be the steel in the redhead's spine. "Look at me," he asserted, his voice softening when Ian met his face, "you're ready."

He nodded, overwhelmed by the gravity of the night, but tethered down to Earth by his anchor. The way Mickey held his hand tight as they entered the building, reminded him that the only tangible success that mattered was the feel of his husband's fingers and the taste of his lips; nothing else would ever matter as much. The perspective slowed his heart rate and prompted him to catch his breath. 

It only took moments for him to be swept away, pulled by his public relations team in arm stretching directions. Phrases like "fine art debut" and "the next Alfred Stieglitz" were thrown around like confetti, some even having the audacity to say his Mickey series was as impactful of Stiegliz's on Georgia O'Keeffe. 

Mickey. Every time he was tugged away from him, his eyes scanned the room to find him, and his nerves instantly settled when he had. In truth, he didn't have to look far. Even when he couldn't locate him in the flesh, he found parts of him on canvas, hanging on every wall. His muse. 

Full frame close ups of every one of his gorgeous features created the series that would make Ian a legend. From his pillowy pout, to the birthmark on his hand and the dimples above his ass, he hadn't left anything out. As he studied his work, he couldn't find one that he loved more than the rest; each photographer a piece of his heart, represented by the creases beside his husband's eyes and the base of his cock flanked by a trim tuft of hair. There was the curl of his toes and the slope of his nose; every angle perfectly caught. 

"And all the photographs feature the same model?" an art critic from the New York Times asked, taking notes as Ian responded. 

"Yes," he replied confidently. It was a question that would have shaken him a year ago; an inquiry that his worried mind would have twisted into criticism instead of curiosity, "my husband."

"Do you think using one subject flattens the series?"

Ian shook his head. "No, I'd say the opposite. Focusing on one subject allowed me to show an intimacy that I wouldn't have been able to demonstrate if I was shooting from the surface. By featuring every part of him, I'm surrounding the viewer with something so private that it almost feels wrong to admire it. I wanted that."

"Why did you want it?"

"I wanted the spectator to feel like I invited them in to see what I do. I wanted them to feel my love, and feel anxious that they did because it's mine," he explained, glancing at the crowds of people consuming every inch of husband, "I wanted to use the lens to show them how I view him."

"And how would you describe that, how you view him?"

"Like he's the only thing I can see," he replied simply, giving his agent the silent signal that he was finished. 

"Thank you for the time," the man said, shaking his hand after Lilah told him it was time to wrap it up. 

He searched for him again, just as he had the times before when he'd been taken away. His eyes passed over Jade and Mandy; the space between them barely existent as they cooed and canoodled. They then shifted towards the Chicago contingent, who he and Mickey had flown out for the occasion. Finally, he found who he was looking for. He stopped himself from running into his arms, choosing to walk at a brisk pace instead, drawing the attention of those he passed by. 

"Stand by me," he urged, grabbing onto his wrist. It wasn't that he needed him to make it through, it was that he wanted him. 

"You alright, Gallagher?"

"Milkovich," Ian reminded him gently, gesturing to the large name plate featured on the center wall. He'd changed his name when he'd changed his direction, every decision leading him to where they stood next to the each other that night. 

"Milkovich," Mickey corrected himself with a grin, the pride he felt for his husband radiating off him.

"I love you so much," the photographer admitted, burying his blushing face into the nook of Mickey's neck. 

"I love you, too," he assured him, rubbing Ian's back, "and I'm really fucking proud of you."

Surrounded by people ogling over them and the art, Ian matched his husband's breath, his lips pressed against the pulsing vein his his neck, his lungs filtering the air. Untwining himself from his lover's arms, Ian looked back up at his name hanging handsomely among the images with the title of the exhibit below:

__**coup de foudre: under my skin ******_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Lydia for inspiring this work!  
> Thank you to my 'Mandy' as always for your help!
> 
> Thank you to all of you for reading and commenting. <3


End file.
